Oneshots
by Shivani
Summary: Slash & Gen - A catchall file of unrelated oneshots or teasers. Nothing in here will be linked to an existing story at this site.
1. Oneshot: Immortality

**Title**: Immortality  
**Warnings**: None  
**Pairings**: None  
**Spoilers**: None 

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary**: What happens when Voldemort achieves immortality?

**Notes**: A one-shot off the top of my head. Written in about ten minutes.

* * *

It was nearly over. After a long, hard struggle, things were coming to a head. Death Eaters lay dead in droves and more still were out on the grounds, fighting for their lives against the forces of Light. But Harry, poor Harry, was currently tightly bound and propped up against a wall as Voldemort gloated.

"Finally," he said with undisguised glee. "You have failed, Potter. It all comes down to this. With this"—Voldemort held up a vial—"I will realize my dreams, and you'll be unable to stop me."

Harry struggled against his bonds, his face flushing unattractively. If looks could kill, anyone watching would have been certain the Dark Lord would die from the look Harry was giving his nemesis.

Voldemort let out a peal of high-pitched laughter and flipped the vial open. "I hope you enjoy this as much as I will, Potter," he said, then downed the potion in one swallow.

Harry struggled even harder, against all reason, then suddenly stopped and smiled.

Voldemort tilted his head to the side and blinked. "Is there a problem, little lion? Well, no matter. Perhaps I should just kill you now and be done with it. Or maybe, a little torture first." Voldemort raised his wand and said maliciously, "Crucio!"

Harry's smile broadened when nothing happened. He whispered under his breath, then slowly rose to his feet as his bonds fell away like dust. "I sincerely hope you enjoy immortality, Tom, considering the price you've paid for it."

"Crucio!" yelled Voldemort, his slitted eyes going wide.

"It's a funny thing, Tom, you not doing proper research. I take it you didn't know that potion would destroy your magic? I really, really hope you enjoy living forever, because the only thing that will bring you peace now is the Dementor's Kiss, and you're in no position to resist us taking you there." Harry raised one hand and pointed, then said, "Incarcerous."

Seconds later Albus Dumbledore and Severus Snape stepped into the room smiling.


	2. Teaser: Control Issues

**Title **: Control Issues (Teaser)  
**Warnings **: Slash  
**Pairings **: Harry/Lord Voldemort   
**Spoilers **: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP (minor HBP)  
**Warnings**: slash, rape, torture, naughty words...

**Disclaimer **: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary **: Sick, twisted, perverse—that would be Severus Snape. And yet, his blindly obedient little soldier boy ran away, and to guess who? Features abused!Harry, creature!Harry, sadistic!Harry.

**Note1**: Everyone is massively OOC, so don't bother to flame me on that point. I don't give out rewards for being Captain Obvious. That also goes for trying to educate me on the finer points of the after-effects of rape, torture, blah blah blah. If you manage to take this story seriously, you need more help than I do.

**Note2**: This is not a complete chapter _here, _nor will it ever be. If it piques your interest, though, I should think a glance at my _profile_ would point you in the right direction. This file entry will _not _be updated.  


* * *

A sudden intrusion into his mind had Voldemort setting down his book and going on full alert. The day might finally have arrived that Potter was trained enough to attack him directly and he did not wish to be unprepared. 

He was, therefore, completely shocked when approximately five seconds later someone appeared in his sitting room, flung their wand aside, then prostrated themselves before him, exposing their neck. After a half second of thought he tested the wards and found them to be sound, so he turned his attention to the figure kneeling in front of his chair, then strained his hearing when it whispered, "Please help me."

Voldemort was quite sure he had not taken any experimental potions that morning, nor was he dreaming, so this must in fact be real. He leaned forward and reached down, taking the jaw of the person in his hand, then used that leverage to force their head up so he could see who he was dealing with. He nearly yanked his hand away in shock when he realized he was staring into the face of Harry Potter himself.

"Help you how?" he found himself asking, wondering if he was being offered one of his arch enemies on a silver platter.

"Set me free, please, sir," Potter whispered.

Voldemort blinked and reconsidered the situation. Surely Potter was not referring to the fact that his chin was being held hostage. "Free of what?"

"Please, sir. I'll do anything you ask of me, just set me free. Either break their hold or kill me, just don't make me live like this any longer. I'll beg if you want. I tried to kill myself already, and I can't for some reason. Please help me."

Voldemort released the young man's chin and sat back, bewildered. According to his spy, Severus, Potter had been undergoing training for quite some time, and was a pathetic waste of time and effort. Now, how _that_ could possibly explain how Potter had managed to bypass multiple layers of wards, including ones to prevent apparating and use of portkeys, and land in the private quarters of the Dark Lord himself. . . .

He eyed Potter for several minutes; the entire time the young man knelt there unmoving, his head bowed, with his hands on his thighs. It did not escape Voldemort's notice that Potter was decked out in the best possible combat gear that could be purchased—indeed, it looked like custom work—and was bristling with a lethal array of muggle weapons.

"What do you mean," he finally said, "by their hold on you?"

"I've tried. . . . I've tried, I did, several times, and I can't. I can't even turn on them. I tried so hard to protect myself, my mind. I can't bear this much longer. I feel like my mind is going to shatter. I waited, I schemed, until they felt safe, and then I ran, straight to you. I thought you would kill me if I asked, since—"

"Stop!" Voldemort barked, and was rewarded with a shock of silence. Potter's voice had gone from soft to verging on hysterical, a rather frightening thing to witness. He reached out to grasp the young man's chin a second time, then forced his head around toward a cabinet against one wall. "Do you see that cabinet?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to get two things from it and bring them back here. Can you do that for me?"

"Okay."

"In the top portion is a collection of knives and athames. Pick one, it doesn't matter which. In the bottom are drawers of potions. Locate a calming potion. When you have those two things, bring them back to me." He released his grip and waited, watching as Potter slowly got to his feet and slinked over to the cabinet to do as requested.

He found himself oddly fascinated by the way Potter moved, as though he had no bones or was partly cat, and speculated briefly on whether or not the young man was an animagus. Potter returned shortly and held out the items, so Voldemort took them. The athame went onto the table next to him and he double-checked to make sure Potter had brought back the right potion, then opened it and held it out. "Drink this."

As soon as Potter had obeyed Voldemort took the empty vial and set it aside, then said, "Bring that chair over here and sit down. We're going to talk." He wanted very badly to pinch himself to make absolutely certain he wasn't dreaming. But, he thought, there was no way in hell he could possibly have a dream so strange.

Once the young man was sitting he said quietly, "I will make you a deal, Potter." And inside he was praying he would not regret it. "I will do my utmost to help free you, whatever is within my capabilities and knowledge, in exchange for your complete, unquestioning loyalty to me. At any time, even if I _am_ able to free you, you may request your own death and I will give that to you. Do you find this agreeable?"

Potter looked a bit lost for a minute, gnawing on his lower lip, then said, "Does that mean you'd want me for what they did?"

"What do you mean?"

"To kill people, sir."

Voldemort held back his surprise and instead said, "You may call me Tom. And as much as I would like to say yes, I will not. It would be your choice to participate directly or not in this war." After all, so long as he had Potter's loyalty, it would not matter much. It was one enemy out of the way, or working for him, so it was all gravy if the young man made the agreement. As it was, he was beginning to wonder if Potter was suffering from the start of a complete nervous breakdown.

"Oh. You'll help me?"

Voldemort managed to refrain from grinding his teeth in frustration. "Yes, if you make the agreement." Was Severus right? Was Potter actually that lacking in intelligence?

"All right. I will. Tell me what to do. I need help."

Voldemort slid the athame off the side table, unable to make a valid comparison of this Potter to a much younger one. That one had fire, this one was . . . a kicked puppy? There must be a great deal Severus was hiding from him, and he intended to get to the bottom of the mystery.

"Hold out your hand," he said gently.

Five minutes later they were done, and Voldemort gave an inward cheer of triumph as he spelled the knife clean and set it aside. He was confused, however, when Potter not only did not move to mend his hand, but declined an offer to do so on his behalf. But even as Voldemort puzzled over that he saw the wound heal without any outside interference, leaving Potter's hand pristine. Right.

"May I call you Harry?"

"Yes, please."

"Harry, I would like if you would retrieve your wand and put it away. It would not do for it to get lost. Then come back and sit down."

"Okay," Harry said a bit absently, then rose and immediately honed in on where he had flung it earlier. He was back in the chair within thirty seconds.

"How do you feel?" Voldemort figured he may as well start things off simply. In truth, he was at a bit of a loss given how oddly the young man was behaving.

"Confused. Lost. My head, it's not right."

Voldemort glanced off to the side for a second, then said, "Are you hungry?"

Harry shook his head, then frowned. "I don't think so."

"When was the last time you ate?"

He was mildly surprised when Harry responded with, "What year is this?"

"2002, Harry, the twenty-second of April," he supplied. All the colour fled from Potter's face to be replaced with a sickly tinge of green, and the next thing Voldemort knew, Harry was on his knees a short distance away dry heaving. Not having any bloody idea what to do or how to respond, Voldemort simply sat there in silence.

Harry eventually wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, then resumed his chair. "The last time I remember eating was in 1998," he said softly, his eyes wide and staring. "I stopped needing to use the bathroom around then, too." He looked up at Voldemort a bit fearfully. "Am I . . . even a human anymore?"

"I would need to know more before I could begin to answer a question like that," Voldemort said reasonably. "How good is your recollection of that time period, when you suddenly stopped needing to do those things?"

Harry slowly shook his head. "I—no, don't ask me that. See for yourself. I can't . . . keep it together. My barrier is starting to shatter, I think. My persona."

Voldemort heaved a quiet sigh. "Were you tortured, Harry?"

"Yes."

"Are you offering me access to your mind so I can see what was done to you?"

"Yes. Please help me."

Voldemort took a deep breath and nodded. "All right. Are you going to object if I give you a potion to make you sleep for a while, Harry, so as to cut back on any mental distress you might otherwise suffer?"

"It's okay."

"Then I suggest you go stretch out on the couch while I get one. If you wish you can remove that gear as well, since I doubt it would be comfortable to sleep in." Voldemort rose and headed to the cabinet, only peripherally aware of what his new . . . ally . . . was doing. When he turned back Potter was naked and stretched out on the sofa, and already had his eyes closed.

After seriously considering the idea of taking a holiday soon, Voldemort brought a chair over and situated it comfortably, then sat down and said, "Drink this. You'll be asleep for a minimum of eight hours." He waited a good ten minutes after Potter had knocked back the potion, until he was absolutely certain the young man was unconscious, then pushed back his chair a bit and levitated Harry so he could inspect young man's body.

He didn't even bother to pay attention to Potter's physique, though it was impressive; he was looking for oddities. It wasn't until he rotated Potter over that he found anything peculiar. There were two elongated patches, almost lines, parallel to Potter's spine, consisting of what looked like . . . scales, of a translucent material that strongly reminded him of diamonds, and appeared to be grafted into his skin. Voldemort didn't dare touch them directly, but it gave the young man a distinctly reptilian aspect, despite the fact that the scales were not something he would ever expect to see on a snake or other similar creature.

Shaking his head slightly Voldemort rotated Potter again and set him back down on the sofa, then summoned a light blanket to cover him with. Whatever it was, it couldn't be natural. He repositioned his chair, settled in comfortably, then stretched his mind out along the link he knew he shared with Potter and started digging.

* * *

_Intrigued? Interested? Toddle off to my profile to find the real deal's location.  
_


	3. Oneshot: Reindeer

**Title**: Reindeer

* * *

"We are gathered here today on this sad occasion to say good-bye to a man long revered in life, and who will be cherished long past the moment of his death." The speaker paused for a moment and attempted to frown when a member of the audience tried valiantly to stifle a giggle.

"As per our customs, we shall not descend into depression and blackest mourning, but rather celebrate the life that Albus Dumbledore lived. We shall remember just how many lives he touched during his journey with fondness, and for some, love." The speaker paused a second time when a different person choked back a bit of laughter and was hastily elbowed in the ribs by the person sitting next to them.

"I would like to begin by sharing my own experiences with Albus, which began when I was just a boy—" He was cut off when a howl of laughter erupted from somewhere in the back. The speaker swore under his breath, forgetting that the sonorus spell would relay it to everyone, then threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"Yes! We all know it was his own bloody fault, though I personally blame the Weasley twins for singing that damn song!" The speaker, Harry Potter, glared ferociously at two redheads among those gathered, who were presently clutching each other with tears running down their faces. "If not for you, Albus wouldn't have done it!"

And so it went.

As it was, it all started when Fred and George had begun, in the spirit of things, singing, "Rudolf the Red-nosed Reindeer." Unfortunately, Albus had picked up on it and had decided, in his infinite wisdom, that having the creatures roaming the grounds during the holiday was a splendid idea, especially for those muggleborns staying on that year.

What was even more unfortunate was that Albus had never heard the song, "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer." Perhaps if he had, he might not have suffered the same fate himself on a snowy Christmas eve. At least he died happy.


	4. Oneshot: Pyrite

**Title**: Pyrite

**Date: **31 August 2008  
**Rating**: PG13  
**  
Warnings**: minor language  
**Pairings**: n/a

**Summary**: Harry learns something about purebloods, and his father, which rocks his world. And not in a good way.

**Notes**: Just an idea that popped into my head as I was trying to get to sleep earlier.

**Updated**: 01 September 2008, for a typo.

* * *

Harry took a seat when the goblin waved at one of the visitor chairs and looked up attentively, albeit a bit nervously. He was seventeen, and therefore old enough (according to wizarding law) to officially inherit. And frankly, he wasn't sure what would be there. Certainly, the Potter name was quite old, but one look at a family like the Weasleys brought home the point that far-reaching ancestors might mean nothing when it came to monetary matters.

"I am Gildmaar," the goblin said, sliding a folder over and opening it. He glanced at the contents, then said, "The world knows your birth date, but we must verify, that and your identity, to satisfy the usual safeguards on inheritance. Also that you are not under the control of any potions or spells."

He nodded, seeing the sense, and suffered to be tested. Thankfully, the goblin magic (and he was internally hooting over the idea that the ministry thought they were being so repressive by denying the goblins wands) was surprisingly gentle, and it was over quickly enough.

"Excellent," the goblin quite nearly drawled. "Then we shall move on. Mr Potter, it is rumored that your education has been somewhat lacking, you having been raised in the muggle world. With that in mind I shall explain more in depth than I would normally."

And by then Harry was feeling mightily curious.

"Pureblood families have, for a very long time, held to the custom of testing their younglings for certain factors, generally all before the age of six weeks. What is important here is the test performed which helps them to determine advantageous marriage alliances for those same children."

"Huh?" What the devil was he talking about?

"The specific test I speak of reveals the child's orientation, Mr Potter. To be blunt, if the child is homosexual."

Harry imagined, after his brain kicked back into gear, that he must look quite stupid sitting there gaping. "They can determine that?" he finally choked out. He had already realized that _he_ was homosexual if his daydreams and normal dreams were anything to go by, that and his roving eyes and appreciation of the male form.

"Oh, yes," Gildmaar assured him. "Mind, the test is done, for some _purely_ as custom. Some do not seem to care about the results. They would arrange a marriage based on their needs, and not based on what the child is suited for, if you catch my meaning."

Well, that only made a certain kind of sense. He could hardly imagine Abraxas Malfoy or Orion Black giving a flying fig if their sons were gay when it came to cementing an alliance to another powerful pureblood family. But. . . . Harry gave the goblin a suspicious look. _Why_ was it the topic of conversation now?

Gildmaar nodded several times and glanced back down at the contents of the folder. "In addition, Mr Potter, some families made inheritances conditional."

Oh dear. Was he going to have to be married or something to inherit?

"In the case of James Potter, the man was quite adamant that his primary heir not be homosexual."

He was recalled from his daze some time later by his name being repeated; his heart was pounding fiercely. He felt rather like he was swimming in too thick air and everything seemed a bit hazy to his eyes.

"It is said—and this is strictly rumor, you understand—that James was pressing for more children, quite possibly due to the results of your testing," the goblin continued. "Then again, perhaps your parents simply wanted multiple children." Gildmaar shrugged. "His wishes, of course, impact your inheritance." The goblin slid a sheet of parchment out of the folder and stared at it for a moment. "Another custom of pureblood families is to set up a trust vault for each child, assuming they have the money to do so. This ensures that the child will have the resources they need until they come of age, especially in the event that a disaster occurs."

Trust vault, paid for school, supplies. . . . Harry nodded absently.

"A trust vault is handled in one of two ways when the child comes of age. If they're the primary heir it is absorbed back into the estate. Otherwise it becomes the sole property of the child in question. Therefore, you will retain whatever funds remain." Gildmaar pushed the parchment across the desk. "That details, as of 8 o'clock this morning, the value of that vault. Also listed are your earnings from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Apparently you are a silent partner in that business. And, given that the seed money did not come from the main estate, you keep the earnings for yourself."

He was still having some trouble breathing, but he could not quite pin down what he was feeling just then. The parchment was as described, giving a total for the trust vault, including the money the twins had dumped into it—not that he had known they were doing so. His hand was shaking as he trailed a finger down the page. "What's this?" he asked, glancing up.

"Ah," Gildmaar said with a nod. "Your mother, on the other hand, held different views. She, of course, held the right of disbursement for any and all money and property she brought into the marriage. Her wishes were that her estate be divided equally between any of her offspring. As you are an only child, you inherit all of it." More sheets of parchment were slid from the folder and pushed across the desk. "These detail any and all transactions for your vault."

Ten minutes or so later Harry looked up, bottom lip firmly between his teeth. And then he spoke, in a curiously even voice. "So all that I have is now in this one vault, is that correct? And I have complete control of it as of now."

"Correct, Mr Potter."

"What a bloody asshole," he shouted suddenly. "I knew he was cruel as a kid, but this is disgusting! Happy effin' birthday, Harry."

"Mr Potter," Gildmaar said sternly.

He was instantly contrite. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "You're not the target of my anger. Please accept my apology for my impropriety."

Gildmaar stared at him, then nodded. "Apology accepted. Now, let us move on to the other matter, that being the will of Sirius Black."

Harry's gaze snapped up. More shitty news? Or was there a glimmer of hope to be found? It wasn't about the money, it was about the attitude, and knowing that in his father's eyes he would never be good enough. And he couldn't even yell at the man directly, his anger left mostly impotent.

"All other bequests outlined in Mr Black's will have already been executed, as those parties were already of age." Gildmaar closed the folder and pushed it aside, sliding a different one over to open and glance at. "You are Mr Black's primary heir, and thus, the bulk of his estate falls to you. You have the option to consolidate your holdings into a single vault if you wish, just to keep things tidy."

He took a deep breath, wondering, yet afraid to wonder, and finally asked his question. "When . . . was his will made?"

"Mr Black filed three wills with us, the first being after he inherited from his uncle. The second was after he was named your godfather, and the final will was in January of 1996."

Not so long before he was killed, then. And yet. . . . Did he want to know if he was the primary heir before the final will, or not? He wasn't sure he could handle another seeming betrayal. It was, after all, quite possible that Sirius had been privy to the results of the test, but had forgotten due to his long imprisonment. He shook his head. "I would like to consolidate, please."

Gildmaar nodded and fetched out some paperwork and began filling it in. One sheet was pushed over to him for perusal and a signature, another was placed into an outbox after that. He imagined it contained orders for other goblins to start shifting things around. He spent some time looking at the statement for what he had inherited from Sirius, and wondered, exactly, how expensive it actually was to live in the wizarding world. It wasn't like anyone had ever offered a class on those things applicable to everyday living. He couldn't even tell if he would need to get a job after he left Hogwarts, though he had planned to do something. At least he knew he had a home now.

A key was presented to him, and the meeting wrapped up. As he stood to leave he paused and looked at the goblin. "What . . . will happen to the Potter estate, then? I mean—wait, no. Never mind. Even if I have the right to know, I don't think I could stand to." Hundreds, possibly thousands of years of Potters, and everything they had accumulated, gone . . . and to what. He could not bear to know. He only knew that the image he held of his father was irrevocably shattered.


	5. Oneshot: Exposition

**Title**: Exposition

******Date: **03 September 2008**  
Rating**: PG13?

** Spoilers:** OotP**  
Warnings**: AU, crack-ish, slashy, betrayal, character deaths

**Summary**: Getting lost in the library is frustrating, but also inexplicably rewarding. So to speak.

**Notes**: This was inspired by (of all things) chapter two of _Convergence_. It's not exactly funny, though it is flippant and slightly cracked. Light on dialogue. It's just, you know, one of those odd ideas that pops up. Very quickly done, so I've not spent any time obsessing over plot holes or details. It's definitely not serious.

**Updated**: 03 September 2008 (fixed a name and a messed up sentence)

* * *

He was irritated beyond measure. Hermione had been nagging him, again, not content to take his word for anything. And she did not seem to understand at all what he felt, or even why he would feel that way. Who wouldn't be frustrated and angry over being kept in the dark? At being ignored? At being unfairly maligned? At, well, everything! He had slipped off once she got into full rant mode, knowing it would take a while before she realized he'd had the audacity and daring to walk out on her.

However, he was now lost between the stacks, none of the titles on the book spines seeming the least bit familiar to him. True, he had never exactly been a bookworm, but he had not realized the library was so large. He couldn't see anything that might hint at or suggest he was getting any closer to where Madam Pince played dragon. Not even an examination of the ceiling provided clues; every time he looked up it appeared he was just off center, no matter how far he had gone in a straight line.

He felt, for a moment, fond nostalgia for the Little Whinging Public Library.

An hour later he found a door, barely visible in a wall that seemed to loom up out of nowhere. Curious, and already utterly lost, he decided to go through, only to end up in another room sliced by stacks. A great huge sigh escaped his lips as he sat down right on the spot. He contemplated, briefly, having a tantrum and chucking things hither and yon. He even pulled a book out of the case he was leaning against and weighed it in his hand, wondering how much of an impact it would make.

But then he sighed again; it wasn't the book's fault. As he went to replace it he noticed something wedged between the two sides of stack, bisected by a shelf. That was carefully removed so he could examine it. It looked ancient, like a tome bound by hand ages and ages ago, and a look inside revealed it was hand-written. The handwriting was appalling, actually, but then so was his, so he could decipher it easily enough.

He thought, after a while, that he must have stumbled over some long-since-lost-to-wizardkind spells. Or maybe they were very advanced, which would explain why none of them were familiar. One, though, sounded very interesting indeed, and after a quick read of the function and instructions, Harry gave it a whirl.

"_Expositio_ Hermione Granger."

There, right in front of him, was a cloud of sparkly pink smoke, and from it, as it dissipated, formed a little creature that he had never before seen the like of. The book had told him to expect a daemon, but the red skin, cutely curving little horns, and long tail that ended with a triangular bit wasn't what he had imagined. And then it began to speak.

"Hermione Jean Granger, born 19th September 1979, to Alan Sampson Granger and Jean Catherine Granger née Miller, making her a muggleborn witch and presently 16 years of age. She has long bushy brown hair, lightly-tanned skin, and brown eyes, and is 167cm in height, weighing in at 8.2 stones.

"Granger attended the Shrewsbury School for the Gifted until she received her invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and was sorted into Gryffindor house at the welcoming feast of 1991. Her favorite colour is beige, her favorite food is rice pudding, her favorite subjects are. . . ."

Harry sort of zoned out for a bit, but his attention was handily caught again after only a short time.

"—in a scheme masterminded by the headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, her present duty to see that Harry James Potter, a fellow Gryffindor, remains irritated and angry so that he will be unlikely to stop and analyze his circumstances and situation, and not go delving for information. She is aided in this by fellow Gryffindor Ronald Bilius Weasley. . . ."

He listened, he did, but his mind was split between the words flowing from the creature's mouth and the white hot rage building up inside him. Eventually the creature paused longer than normal, said, "End of record," and disappeared in another puff of sparkly pink smoke.

A while later—he had no idea how long, though several random books ended up shredded somehow—Harry took a deep breath and decided to try the spell again. Perhaps other people he knew were hiding things from him? Directly affecting his welfare? Like, oh, Dumbledore? And others, too. What about Sirius and Remus? What about Peter Pettigrew? Or Voldemort? If the little creature was a mouthpiece for some repository of knowledge, then perhaps. . . .

He was utterly delighted quite a bit later to know where he could reasonably expect to find Pettigrew, such as for capture. And also that Voldemort did, in fact, have at least one exploitable weakness that could, coincidentally, lead to his defeat. Well, death, actually. And a prophecy! All that time spent attending Hogwarts and that slimy slug of an old man had known about his duty, yet never said a word. And that bit about how he was expected to die? Ha!

The book was wedged back where he found it, other books being shifted around to hide it as before, and Harry got up off the floor and looked around, wondering how in hell he could find his way back to familiar territory. As if on cue the door he had entered by creaked open, so he took that for a gentle hint and used it, ending up in a normal corridor; a look out the nearest window showed he was on the south side of the castle.

Chimes alerted him to the fact that dinner was about to be served, so he turned and prepared to muddle his way down to the Great Hall, absently taking in that the door had vanished, and set off. He got there before his 'friends' somehow, and when Hermione arrived she looked pissed.

"Harry! Where did you go? I was talking to you!"

He became inexplicably deaf, and reached out to fill his plate so he could appease the hunger pangs he was experiencing. He also became selectively blind, not noticing the nasty looks being shot his way by the girl, and those of confusion from Ron. No, he started a chat with Neville about plants, idly wondering if was possible to become so angrily worked up as to spontaneously combust.

Only a few days later they were hustled out of their beds at an ungodly hour and up to the headmaster's office. Seemed that Arthur Weasley had been injured and was at St Mungo's. They were packed off by portkey to headquarters, Harry muttering obscenities under his breath the whole time for the insensitivity the man displayed.

The moment he had the chance Harry dragged Sirius, Remus, and Tonks off for a chat, having quietly requested a safe place to meet, preferably one with many wards in place, or to be emplaced. That made them insanely curious, and he was able to relax once they had settled in, especially since a certain someone had cheerfully wandered by all the bedrooms and cast spells to keep people in a deep sleep for hours.

"So, it's like this," he started, then explained about that day. And while he did not tell them the actual spell, he did perform it for them (non-verbally, which he had practiced at very hard), so they, too, could hear things directly. (In point of fact, Remus figured out the incantation on his own after a bit of thought.)

Well, they were all upset, angry, and looking a bit wild around the eyes by the time he was done. Naturally, they agreed to help. Thoughts were discussed, plans hatched and argued over, and schemes devised. The sleep spell and the warded room became quite popular among the four, and Harry went around looking a bit dragged out all the time from the dent to his usual sleeping schedule. His friends even went so far as to distract Hermione and Ron each time they attempted to do their part for the 'greater good'.

One night was given over entirely to being sneaky, the four of them slipping out after the others had been spelled, for a jaunt over to Diagon Alley. Gringotts was their first stop, where the goblin Mishmash (the name found via a torturous bit of experimentation on Harry's part with that spell and keywords) was delighted to assist them with their revenge, and other various things. The idea of it alone was almost more interesting than the money they'd be paying him, Mishmash confided.

They also stopped in for an appointment in Knockturn Alley, appropriately disguised, to pick up some highly illegal yet very useful (and outrageously expensive) trunks with built-in floos. Harry would have a way to escape the school at will, or they to enter Hogwarts without anyone knowing the difference. Naturally, they set their individual floo names to esoteric things, not wanting anyone to pop in unexpectedly, and they were also protected with a password.

It was close to Easter break when things all started to happen. The little issue of Harry sporting a piece of Voldemort's soul had already been taken care of, Tonks having thought it was a brilliantly fun idea to sneak into the Department of Mysteries for a weird sort of magnet thing that sucked it right out of his head, but left his own soul intact. And really, the security for that place was laughable. It also worked quite well for the other Horcruxes they had learned about during the daemon's expository lecture on Voldemort. Well, and what it had to say when they asked about 'Voldemort's Horcruxes', so as to know how to _safely_ remove them from their hiding places.

Pettigrew showed up on the desk of Amelia Bones one fine morning in a charmed cage that had a letter attached. Before the week was out Sirius Black had been declared innocent of the crimes he'd been imprisoned for, and even pardoned for his escape. The ministry reached out an apologetic hand and also gifted him with quite a chunk of change by way of reparations. Sirius immediately moved to gain custody of Harry, as was proper, and Harry enthusiastically backed him up.

And before Dumbledore had a chance to start telling them how disappointed he was, or that Harry would have to continue to live with the Dursleys due to the protections, Dolores Umbridge suffered a nasty accident during class changeover time and took a header off the top of a staircase. The children there as witnesses were too shocked to act, thus Umbridge hit the floor several storeys down and splattered over a wide area. The house elves were outraged. And nobody looked twice at Harry Potter as he'd been outside, on his way back from Care of Magical Creatures class.

Easter break arrived and was welcomed open-armed by Harry, who though staying, had every intention of sneaking out every night. Besides, Ron and Hermione would try to weasel invitations, and members of the DA had been overheard talking excitedly about getting in more practice sessions.

Voldemort was tracked down during that week, quite late at night, and 'convinced' that continuing to live was a bad idea. They all had a giggle over the man being silly enough to chase them down that dark hallway, allowing for a trap to be sprung, the one that slammed the walls to either side of him against each other . . . with him in between.

A quick spell was tossed at the body to stiffen it up and a base was added so it could stand up, just like those cardboard cutouts of sports people or superheros used for promotional purposes. That found its way, after Harry had returned to school, to the ministry. And while Voldemort's wand was included, sadly it was splintered beyond all hope, so they had sort of glued it back into shape and attached it to his 'hand' with a sticking charm.

Once the bright people over there confirmed that it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, celebrations began all throughout the British wizarding world, and Dumbledore was frequently spotted eyeing Harry suspiciously. He paid the man no never mind and concentrated on his studies, determined to do well, or as well as he could, and also to see how long before Hermione would pick a new subject to rant about. Not that he would hear it, as he was still mysteriously deaf at times.

The OWLs came and went, with Harry convinced he had failed Divination (and rightly so), and probably History, but otherwise he was pleased, believing he had done his best. And then came the train ride home.

"It was such a strange year," Hermione said, her brow all puckered up. "Hardly anything happened."

Harry looked at her funny and shrugged. "I sort of thought Voldemort ending up dead was vaguely important."

"Oh, yes! Well of course! I just mean it was all fairly quiet. It's wonderful that he's gone." She frowned and nibbled her lower lip briefly. "But what about all the Death Eaters?"

"Oh, Harry, do you think you'll still be in much danger?" Ginny asked, latching onto his arm.

He shifted position so as to coincidentally dislodge her hand, then shrugged. "Dunno. But, that's supposedly why the ministry employs aurors and hit wizards. Then again, we all know how wonderfully law enforcement and politics rub shoulders."

"Oi! Well if we become aurors we could _revolutionize_ the program," Ron declared.

He politely refrained from breaking out into hysterical laughter, then frowned when Ginny grabbed his arm again. He shot a concerned look her way and said, "Are you all right? Are you dizzy or something? I know that sometimes it feels like my blood's too thin and I have to reach out and steady myself. Should we leave and let you have a lie down? "

Ginny reclaimed her hand and blushed. "Sorry," she muttered.

'Scheming little tart,' he thought. 'Conspiring with your mother to win my favor. Got more bloody personalities than I can keep track of, and don't think slipping me a love potion will work, either.' He made a noncommittal sound and opened Pandora's box by asking, "So how do you think you did on the exams?"

And that carried them through until they arrived in London. On the muggle side he spotted his uncle and pushed his cart over after saying goodbye to his 'friends'. He was joined by Sirius, Remus, and Tonks, who proceeded to put the fear of torture and death into the man. Granted, he could have gone straight home with his godfather, but it made Dumbledore feel in control and less inclined to directly interfere with his life. And in any case, they could meet in the trunks for the time being.

So he returned to Privet Drive and barricaded himself in the smallest bedroom, not coming out for anything, no matter how much his relatives pounded on the door and demanded he play house elf for them. His trunk had all the basic amenities, after all. He just had to be careful to be 'visible' whenever Moody was on duty.

He was whisked away on his birthday to headquarters, the house still looking like it had been abandoned decades prior, and continued to play stupid. His OWL results arrived, proving that he had failed Divination and History. That was grand, as he'd had enough of them both. Shockingly, Ron earned as many OWLs, though not one Outstanding.

Ginny continued to try to flirt with him (badly) and he continued to be selectively blind, not only to her actions, but to the looks he kept getting from Ron and Hermione. He had to wonder why they were even at headquarters, but supposed it had something to do with Dumbledore being convinced that Voldemort would return, due to his Horcruxes. Well, that and them all being in danger of being picked off by crazed Death Eaters.

To test the theory he was absently playing with the cleansed locket of Slytherin one day, and Dumbledore 'happened' to notice it. He was shuffled off to a dingy sitting room straight away.

"My boy," said Dumbledore, "may I see that?"

Harry shrugged and handed it over, commenting that, "I found it here at headquarters."

Dumbledore examined it very carefully, then looked up with a grave expression. "Harry, you have stumbled over a very important piece of history, except that I believe this may be a copy."

He affected to look interested, eyes firmly on the locket. "What is it, sir? I thought it was just a gaudy locket."

"No, no. Salazar Slytherin once owned a locket like this," Dumbledore said as he handed it back. "And it is my belief that Voldemort spent years gathering up various artifacts, those related to the founders, for something very evil."

Harry licked his lips and leaned forward. "But he's gone now. The ministry said so."

"Ah, but, Harry, how did he survive the night he tried to kill you? No, he enacted a very evil plan, a plan to ensure that his soul was bound to the mortal plane. That is why he wandered as a spirit for so long, and had to use a ritual to embody himself."

"But then what did he do?" he asked, mainly because he thought it would be expected of him.

"Have you ever heard of the term Horcrux? No? A Horcrux is an item which stores a fragment of a person's soul, Harry. It is an evil thing, an abomination. And I have spent years—ever since you destroyed that diary, in fact—searching for leads on where there might be others hidden. I am greatly concerned that Voldemort made more than one, and would therefore be able to embody himself once more."

Harry looked away, trying to appear mildly scared at the idea. "That's disgusting," he whispered, then sat up straight and tried to look brave, though he wouldn't quite meet the old man's eyes. "Can't anything be done?"

"Do not worry about it for right now, my boy. We'll talk again later on this," Dumbledore said patronizingly. He rose to his feet and started for the door. "For now try to enjoy your summer."

He rolled his eyes once the headmaster was gone and tucked the locket into his pocket. During the clandestine gathering that night he reported on the meeting.

"He's going to be a problem," Remus growled.

"Well, sure," Harry said. "And you notice he still said nothing about that stupid prophecy."

"We've got to do something," Tonks asserted. "But it's not like we can murder the man in cold blood."

"Oh, we will," Sirius promised, a malicious gleam in his eyes. "We'll figure something out. And it's just too bad all the Death Eaters didn't die when snake face did. Would've have gleefully danced on Snape's grave."

"Can we get rid of him yet?" Harry whined. "Surely there's tons of students willing to send in complaints. Dumbledore can't possibly save him, can he, if the board starts a serious inquiry?"

Remus smiled indulgently. "We could send out a mass mailing. Anonymously, of course. See how many students and alumni of Hogwarts would be willing to complain this summer."

Sadly, when Harry returned for his sixth year, Snape was still employed as the Potions professor, which meant he was barred from the class. Somewhat of a shame as his friends had been teaching him properly. Still, they had assured him he could still take the NEWT if he wished, even without suffering Snape's vitriol in class.

Two weeks into the term breakfast was interrupted by the arrival of twelve adults, which brought Dumbledore to his feet. The board had arrived, and if the cart they had with them was any indication, Snape was in serious danger of losing his job. Harry didn't stop smiling for ages after he got to witness the sour man being escorted off school grounds a week later. One down, one to go.

The morning after Halloween the Daily Prophet reported that Lucius Malfoy had died. Something about an allergy to a new line of hair care products he had decided to try. Draco Malfoy looked torn between glee and worry at the news, prompting Harry to later use his little spell again. It turned out that Draco was overjoyed that his domineering brute of a father was dead, but he was worried that his position in the hierarchy of Slytherin was now compromised. He also—and this shocked Harry to pieces—was harboring quite a crush on Harry himself. Had been for years!

His friends thought that choice bit of information was hilarious. And after that, Harry found himself hard pressed _not_ to keep eyeing the blond curiously, and replaying confrontations in his mind to dissect them.

In the end, all their heated discussions and brainstorming sessions on how to deal with Dumbledore were for naught. As it turned out, it was a game went wrong that felled the man. Dumbledore had, for years, enjoyed the hobby of playing Twister with the Hogwarts house elves, none of the other staff members being the sorts to participate. They were aware of that thanks to the daemon.

And, well, one fine night someone wibbled, wobbled, and all of them hit the floor like a house of cards blown over. Dumbledore snapped his neck when he landed wrong, resulting in some seriously traumatized house elves.

It was all very tragic.

And Harry lived happily ever after in domestic bliss with Draco Malfoy in France, forsaking his 'friends', despite the record number of howlers they sent him for being out of his bloody mind.


	6. Oneshot: An Incestuous Affair

**Title**: An Incestuous Affair

**Date**: 08 September 2008  
**Rating**: PG13?  
** Spoilers:** Not exactly applicable  
**Warnings**: Slashy, crack-ish, OOC-ness

**Summary**: A meeting for the betterment of the wizarding world goes somewhat awry.

**Notes**: Another one of those ideas that popped into my head as I was attempting that new thing people keep raving about: sleep. Even so, the way it came out was a bit of a surprise to me, but it was done all in one sitting, mostly extemporaneously.

* * *

It was just the two of them, facing each other across a table empty of anything but their wands, and those were each placed on the surface, tips pointing off to the side. Should something go wrong they were within easy reach, and because Potter had somewhat shorter arms, he was seated a bit closer to the table than Voldemort was.

And they started their discussion. Perhaps one means argument, but that is only a minor consideration. They had been at it for some time, heated words tossed back and forth as they both expressed their views on how things ought to be. Potter cut off mid-sentence and stared at the table, causing Voldemort to look down warily.

"They were not like that to begin with," Harry stated bemusedly.

Voldemort arched a brow. The two wands had each rotated ninety degrees and their tips were touching. "No, they were not," he agreed. He looked back up and said, "I am going to move mine back to how it was."

"And I shall do the same," Harry said.

And they did, keeping an eye on each other. Things were slightly awkward for a few heartbeats, then Potter passionately launched back into what he had been saying.

Fifteen minutes later Harry broke off again, glaring at the table. The wands had shifted back together, and this time they appeared to be almost . . . vibrating. "If I did not know better," Harry said stiltedly, "I would say they were kissing."

Voldemort nearly chuckled at the absurdity, but quickly became thoughtful. "They are brother wands," he said slowly, tossing out a reminder of dubious value.

Harry's gaze snapped up to meet his. "A rather incestuous thought, don't you think? I mean, I know the wand chooses the wizard, so there's got to be something weird going on there, but this. . . ."

Another glance down revealed that the wands had shifted again, so quickly that neither of them had caught the movement. They were resting aside each other, still . . . vibrating.

"Okay, this is freaking me out," Harry said a bit shrilly, then reached out and snatched his wand back. "Sheaths?"

Voldemort nodded and reclaimed his own wand. "Agreed."

So they were tucked away, though it did not matter. Another fifteen or twenty minutes went by before Voldemort realized with a frown that he was feeling tremors in his arm. And Potter's expression made him think he was not the only one to suffer so. He sighed, something he would normally never do around others, then casually inquired, "Do you think they're trying to tell us something?"

Harry stared at him for a good minute before his expression cleared. "All right, I'll bite. Like what?"

"You bite?" Voldemort was quite amused when Potter pinked faintly.

"That isn't what I meant and you know it," Harry said primly.

Voldemort shrugged a shoulder and smirked. "You, Potter, would have far better knowledge of current muggle phrases than I would. What was I supposed to think?" When Potter failed to respond he added, "Maybe they're delighted to be sheathed in dark, tight place?"

Harry huffed. "We're getting off track,"' he said firmly. "We're supposed to be negotiating here, not discussing the deviant behavior of our wands."

"The wooden ones, or. . . ?"

Potter stood up quickly, obviously outraged, then sat down just as quickly. But not before Voldemort noticed something quite interesting. It seemed that Potter was not immune to being teased, and was certainly not missing the innuendo. He licked his lips, noting that Potter definitely paid attention. "Perhaps they simply want us to be in harmony. After all, we've been less than understanding of each other prior to this."

"But that's why we're here. To hash things out. For some stupid reason I'm considered the leader of the Light, though I must have been napping when they held that particular election. Then again, given that the collective British wizarding world's intelligence level equals that of a sheep. . . ."

Voldemort did chuckle at that. "Individuals are intelligent. Groups can be a bit mindless."

"Yes!" Harry said passionately, rolling his eyes. Then he looked intently at Voldemort. "Rather like people thinking pure blood is paramount. I can agree that breeding with muggles is a very bad idea, but that some believe people like muggleborns ought to be killed when some force out there gifted them with magic is just revolting. Look at you. Look at me. We're neither of us pure, but we're powerful and talented. And you even admitted you saw me as more of a threat than the pureblood possibility."

Potter would have to bring up his hypocrisy, wouldn't he. "So you think there's some force out there, perhaps magic itself, that decides to gift outsiders?"

Harry leaned forward. "Think on it. Purebloods are inbreeding themselves out of existence, and by virtue of frequently never having more than one child. You can't expand the population by zero growth, or backward growth. Maybe, just maybe, magic itself has gifted others to increase our population, to give us new magical blood to breed with, to help prevent us from causing our own extinction." He snorted. "Well, if we don't kill ourselves off with these little spats over philosophical differences."

And he supposed that Potter had a good point. Or, at least, one that had some thought behind it, rather than blind adherence to an ethos. Voldemort was, after all, incredibly powerful, though he had attributed much of that to his bloodline. However, he was not blind to the mental state of his predecessors. Thus, he was willing to concede that Potter might have something.

Twenty minutes later it was he who happened to notice that their wands were mysteriously on the table, which made him smirk. "They're at it again," he said archly. "Quite cozily."

Harry's lips compressed into a thin line. "What are you doing?" he hissed at his wand.

They moved, if that was possible, even closer to each other.

"Incestuous though it might be, I think they're quite fond of each other," Voldemort commented. "Perhaps they persist in this behavior because they remain . . . unsatisfied." He paused, and was rewarded by Potter pinking again. "By our progress."

Harry glared at him. "Oh? Really. And what do you think they expect us to do? We were doing well!"

Voldemort licked his lips. "Maybe they expect us to do likewise?"

"You have got to be kidding."

Voldemort glanced at the wands again, then at Potter. "You explain it, then. You're an intelligent man."

For some reason Potter blinked at that.

"Hm?" he prompted.

"You—" Harry shook his head. "I have no idea. Besides, you killed my parents."

Voldemort nodded. "Yes. Why did I kill them?"

Harry's eyes went momentarily wide. After a minute he said, "I expect it wasn't personal. They were enemies, whether I existed or not. They did things, as members of the opposition, to make them targets, to mark them for death."

"True. Rather like . . . Bella? Peter? Lucius?"

"They were personal," Harry insisted.

Voldemort shook his head. "Not exactly, but in a way, yes. Peter betrayed more than just your parents. Bella wasn't personal for you until she affected you directly, as until then if anyone had a claim it would have been Longbottom. And Lucius, he affected you indirectly through your friends. But they all did things to mark them for death by the opposition."

Potter was silent again for a bit.

"I don't necessarily expect you to view things the same way, as those three were hardly family to me, but despite any feelings I may have had for them, I knew they could be killed at any time, should they be so unlucky. I hold no ill will toward you as their killer. A bloodless war is managed by diplomats, not soldiers."

Harry cleared his throat. "Which is what we're supposed to be doing."

"I thought we were," Voldemort said innocently.

"Well then why do you keep making double entendres?" Harry demanded.

"Why, because of our wands. Forgive a fellow for having those thoughts, especially watching them go at it. That, along with what I've witnessed of you today, makes me realize just . . . how . . . desirable you are. I confess, it is all rather distracting. Them, and you."

Harry stared at him blankly before saying, "Right. You're saying you'd shag me?"

Voldemort let his gaze wander over Potter slowly, ending at his face, and licked his lips again. "Oh yes. And really, I'm becoming a bit peeved that my wand is seeing more action today than I am."

Harry stared again, then sort of laughed. "I'll tell you what. You and I get through these bloody negotiations, for real. And when we're done, and it's all decided and written down and signed off on and tied up with a pretty little ribbon, we'll seal it with a kiss."

"And a shag?"

Harry nodded. "And a shag. And if you make me scream in sheer, unadulterated pleasure, maybe I'll let you do it again."

"A screamer, eh? You have a deal, Potter."


	7. Oneshot: Iterate

**Title**: Iterate

**Date**: 23 September 2008  
**Rating**: PG-13  
** Spoilers:** Anything from canon as necessary.**  
Warnings**: AU, canon mangling, Harry is not a Horcrux

**Summary**: Ginny returned from the Department of Mysteries with a souvenir. She read the instructions, but . . . she didn't read the warnings.

**Notes**: I've seen one too many stories about someone (Harry, Hermione, Luna, etc.) forcing a do-over of canon to 'set things right' in one fashion or another. Most of them, regrettably, are het.

* * *

Harry was amazed as he looked around the house. This was how real wizards and witches lived! He tuned out what Mrs Weasley was saying—she wasn't listening to what her children were trying to explain anyway—and instead took in all the wonders open to his eyes. A short time later he found himself seated at a table with breakfast before him; he was pleased to dig in, being rather hungry.

Only a few bites made it into his mouth, and subsequently to his stomach, when a red-haired girl sauntered into the kitchen and took a seat. A brief glance reminded him that he had seen her at Kings Cross both times. Ron's little sister served herself after smiling at everyone and Harry was, for some reason, attracted to the pendant hanging from a chain about her neck. He did not know why, but it seemed familiar to him.

Later on while he was helping Ron and the twins to de-gnome the garden he absently listened as his friend muttered about how strangely Ginny was acting. She normally never shut up, and usually blushed and went silent whenever Harry's name was mentioned. And what was up with her wearing a dress like that? To breakfast? He shrugged a lot in between capturing the little creatures and tossing them over the fence like a wobbly discus thrower.

That night he dreamed. By the time morning rolled around Harry had come to a startling realization.

He remembered. He knew what was shortly to come, a future he had not yet lived, and yet had, several times over. And Ginny was the key. He remembered the barrier being closed to him and Ron, he remembered Lockhart and the dueling club, the revelation that he was a parselmouth. He remembered saving Ginny, the basilisk. He remembered Sirius and Remus, the dementors, Peter, and so much more beyond that, several iterations worth.

And he knew why. Ginny was obsessed with him. That pendant she favored as a treasured possession she had picked up at the Department of Mysteries, and when she could not get him to fall in love with her—or rather, stay in love with her—she had rewound time, each time changing things slightly in an attempt to secure his love. In point of fact, she owed him a life debt several times over, for she had always chosen to live through the basilisk incident so he could save her life.

And that brought him to new revelations. When she could not secure his love originally she had, in a fit of demented pique, used her souvenir to start over again. She tried a love potion next—he knew that now—taking up much of his time during his sixth year, but even then he had broken off with her, his sense of chivalry and duty overcoming the effects. And then she started earlier on, trying to keep Sirius alive, and pointing him toward solutions regarding his little Voldemort problem. And every time he resisted her desire. It probably helped that he was gay, which was another thing he now understood.

He was one of the most knowledgeable twelve year olds out there. He pondered for quite some time about things, and what he ought to do. It seemed to him that each iteration made Ginny a little more crazed, and wondered if a long stay in a mental ward would produce favorable results. He also wondered just exactly how much _she_ remembered. One thing was certain: that pendant must be taken away from her.

The trip to Diagon Alley went much the same. Lockhart was a pain, Draco was an ass, Lucius was snide, and a certain diary ended up in Ginny's cauldron. He found himself eyeing Mr Malfoy speculatively; he remembered a lot of things, after all. Harry managed, during that trip, to pick up a few extra odds and ends, and later that night he managed to produce a replica of the pendant using Arthur's wand (just to be on the safe side). A switch was made, with Ginny none the wiser.

He needed a magnifying glass to inspect the thing properly, to see the tiny words etched into the metal. As far as he could tell Ginny had only read the instructions, but had neglected to read the warnings. Because the focus of her desire to turn back time was centered on him, and she had, every time, used it in his presence, the possibility existed that he would remember at some point, should it be used too many times. She probably had told herself each time what her goals were and what had not worked previously, and that was all she remembered, even if she could not remember why. She might not even have told herself to avoid the diary.

The pendant needed to either be destroyed or hidden. And things would most definitely be different this time around.

At school his first task was to read up on some things he never got around to any of the other times. And then he sent off a letter, using a school owl, to Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. They met him in the Shrieking Shack, warily superior and looking quite nearly outraged at such a nasty meeting place, but bearing the pensieve he had requested they bring.

"You must think I'm crazy," he opened with. "I assure you I'm not. To reiterate what I said in my letter, nothing I plan to share with you is meant as a threat, only a warning of things to come."

Lucius sneered at him.

"For instance, I know you slipped a diary into Ginny Weasley's cauldron in Flourish & Blotts." When Lucius stiffened and his hand twitched on his cane Harry hastily continued, "And I know the outcome of that action. I also know what will happen several years from now, and I think you both will be extremely interested to see."

"And what makes you think you have anything of important to say, Potter?"

Harry sighed. "Well, if you don't want to hear about how Voldemort will take over your home, take your wand for one of your failures and leave you without another, and send your son off on a fool's mission to kill Dumbledore to keep you two alive. . . . Draco failed, by the way, repeatedly."

Narcissa placed a hand on her husband's arm, though her disdainful expression never slipped.

"So let's make a deal. We three give vows of nonaggression—until noon, at least—and secrecy. I will show you what the future holds, and how I know of it. And I'm certain you realize that you can tell when memories have been tampered with, so you'll also know I'm not trying to trick you."

"Why should we believe anything you have to say, little boy?" Lucius demanded.

He smirked. "Afraid to find out that Voldemort really would turn on you? Or are you cunning enough to see this advantage and utilize it? Wouldn't you prefer to remain a pillar of society, a voice people listen to? Wouldn't you prefer to stay out of Azkaban, because I assure you, you will end up there for a time if you choose not to listen to me. It's happened several times already."

Harry apparated to the other side of the room the second Lucius went for his wand. The man stood there for a moment, shocked, then whipped around to stare at him. "I know more than you think I do, Mr Malfoy. Keep it up and I'll let you rot. But this time, you'll stay there."

Narcissa touched her husband's arm again, her expression blanking out. Lucius snarled and nodded. Once the vows were out of the way Harry conjured up a set of chairs and took a seat, levitating the table with the pensieve over to rest between them. "Let me give you a brief explanation," he said, then did so, inwardly amused at just how much they allowed their reactions to show through their usual cold masks. "And now I'll show you what I remember. This in particular never changed."

He showed them his memories of events, those which drove home the point of Voldemort's betrayal of their family. He could always rewind if necessary, and search out another way of handling things.

It was nearing two o'clock when Lucius said, "That girl is insane."

Harry shrugged. "I thought so myself."

"Darling," Narcissa said quietly, "I don't see how we can let this happen. The boy—Potter—is"—she coughed delicately, looking exceptionally pained—"right. The Dark Lord turned on us. Your loyalty and service meant nothing to him! He reduced us, practically destroyed us, and used us for his amusement. He expected Draco to fail! And while the girl always turned things back too soon for us to know what would have become of us, I can certainly imagine the results."

"I always thought of Draco as an annoyance," Harry said into the resulting silence. "But he never really did anything to deserve death. He simply isn't cut out to be a servant of Voldemort, which is why I saved him. I know he was desperate, that he truly cared about you two. And I could see that you returned that feeling."

"One might think he owes you a life debt," Lucius said reluctantly. "Us as well."

"That's beside the point. I didn't do it to have that kind of hold over anyone."

"Yet it gives you power," Lucius countered.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know from your point of view it must seem illogical, but I'm just not that kind of person. Nobody, even my friends, seems to realize I just want to live my life. I didn't want any of this. Dumbledore might secretly revel in hoarding information, pulling peoples' strings, and being a hero, but I don't. I'd just like to end this repeating nightmare. I think you two can help me with that, and keep your reputations unsullied in the bargain. Something for something."

After another long silence Lucius said, "What do you plan to do about the Weasley girl?"

"Well, frankly, I'd like some advice on that. Does the wizarding world even have psychologists? Can her mind be fixed?"

Narcissa looked at him. "Longbottom."

"Ah." Harry bit his lip.

"I hate to say it, dear—"

Harry blinked.

"—but I think the girl shouldn't survive this time," Narcissa said.

He sighed again. "Perhaps. After all, I've killed more than a few times already," he said, thinking of Quirrell first and foremost.

"I have decided," Lucius stated firmly. "We shall make an alliance."

* * *

By the time the end of May rolled around Harry was heartily sick of things. He had changed nothing, despite the temptation. Until that night. Once Lockhart had backfired his spell and reduced his memories to mist, Harry cast a few spells of his own. After he cleaned up the rock fall Lockhart and Ron were levitated down the tunnel to the Chamber of Secrets and dumped right outside the door, unconscious, with Ron lacking any memory of anything since they had slid down the huge pipe, Harry having rather cunningly obliviated him.

Harry then marched on in to face the memory of Tom Riddle. The second the basilisk was called forth he whipped out a pair of specially-spelled wrap-around sunglasses and put them on, then produced a sword and proceeded to carry on in almost the same fashion. There was no rescue by Fawkes this time, or sorting hat with Gryffindor's sword, but his sword did knock free one of the snake's fangs.

Harry anxiously waited until the exact right moment before pulling on a pair of dragonhide gloves and stabbing the diary with the basilisk fang. Ginny died. Riddle exploded. The glasses were placed on Lockhart, the fang placed in Ginny's hand, and the gloves destroyed. An hour or so later, when he was well shivering from his resting place on the floor, Harry stealthily woke Ron up and pretended to be unconscious.

"Ginny!" Harry groaned and rolled over, causing Ron to rush over and shake him. "Harry! Where the hell are we?"

He slowly pushed himself up and wearily looked around, letting his eyes go wide at the sight of Ginny lying there. "Ron. . . ? What happened? The last thing I remember is. . . ."

"That bastard!" Ron shouted. "Oh no! Ginny!"

An hour later they were all in the infirmary. Dumbledore was forced to accept that one of his teachers had done something heinous, though no one could quite figure out what had happened, as nobody could remember anything. Harry thought his Occlumency work was particularly good at deflecting suspicion. Lockhart ended up in St Mungo's.

Shortly before term ended Harry had another clandestine meeting with Lucius and Narcissa. They had successfully retrieved all of Voldemort's Horcruxes.

The next year went along mostly the same, with Harry not attempting to change anything. The Weasleys were incredibly subdued that year, but that was only to be expected. Remus learned the truth, Sirius got away, and Harry suffered through the summer with the Dursleys without losing his temper, no matter how foul-mouthed Marge was. One black mark off his permanent record.

His fourth year went the same, too, and it was as wretched as he remembered it being. When the third task rolled around Harry made sure that he and Cedric took the cup at the same moment, after the same argument. But when they arrived things went a hair differently. Cedric was pushed out of the way of the killing curse, just barely, the older boy knocking his head against a tombstone and falling unconscious.

Peter apparently assumed he had been successful and proceeded to plan. Harry deliberately focused on being an unwilling giver of blood, concerned that the ritual would not work properly otherwise. He had already spotted Lucius and Narcissa lurking about and knew they were in place to handle their end of things. He also spotted a very pale Cedric hiding behind a headstone, watching everything, and wondered if one of the Malfoys had bound him in place so he could not interfere.

And it all happened rather quickly. As the cauldron seethed and Voldemort prepared to emerge a number of events occurred. The Horcruxes were all destroyed by the Malfoys—including Nagini—and Peter was then knocked out and removed from the scene. Cedric had a clear view of everything. And finally, Harry's restraints were quietly removed.

Voldemort stepped out of the cauldron in all his evil glory, looking quite superior and confident. Though, Harry noted from a position of memory and clarity that he looked ever so slightly unsteady on his feet.

And while the man was gaining his bearings, Harry struck. He beheaded Voldemort with a clever little spell which was not illegal, though the ministry might wish to quibble given that it was used to kill. And it was over.

"Bravo, Mr Potter," Lucius said, stepping into clear view along with Narcissa. "Now, shall we go to Hogwarts and let the world know that . . . Voldemort . . . is gone?"

Harry nodded and turned around so he could release Cedric as Lucius busied himself with a little clean-up work for a certain grave. "You okay?"

"I—what the—?"

Harry nodded again. "You're fine. Come on."

Back at the school it was chaos, partly for the fact that two champions had disappeared unexpectedly, and partly because a certain Defense professor had not realized his little flask had been swapped out and had transformed back into Barty Crouch Jr in front of a large number of people. He was stunned, of course, almost before he could blink.

Harry, Cedric, the Malfoys, Peter, and a bunch of destroyed Horcruxes reappeared into the mess and were immediately hustled off to Dumbledore's office along with Fudge, Crouch, and a number of aurors.

And the wizarding world celebrated. Sirius was declared innocent and pardoned for his escape, the Malfoys retained their status, and Harry got to leave the Dursleys behind. And it was all thanks to a delusional stalker named Ginevra Weasley.

Harry considered, finally, that she had repaid her life debt. And the pendant . . . was safely hidden, in a place Harry visited only once, not wishing to be so uninventive as Voldemort had been with his Horcruxes.

Just in case the Malfoys decided to do something foolish.


	8. Oneshot: Deception

**Title**: Deception

**Date**: 29 September 2008  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Anything from canon, as necessary.  
**Warnings**: AU

**Summary**: He knew, that day, that someone had lied. A take on the cliché of wrong Twin Who Lived. No dialogue. Very compact storyline.

**Notes**: This is what happens when you stumble over a Twin Who Lived C2 and make the mistake of actually pondering the idea. A number of ideas rose, some of which appear here, while others. . . . Well, we'll worry about those later.

* * *

Harry had always known he was different, but as he had never been willing to confide in anyone—thanks to the Dursleys and their quest for stagnant normality—he had no idea exactly how to describe things. He could, inexplicably, always recognize a person, even if not by name. And he sat there feeling confused and bordering on upset. There in the Great Hall, under names he had no recollection of, were his parents and his twin. He kept his mouth firmly closed on that knowledge, much like he had remained silent about just how intelligent he was in his muggle life.

As the school year steadily gained momentum he kept an unobtrusive watch on the people in question. They made no move to speak to him as anything other than strangers, which left him wondering if they had no idea who they were. Or, perhaps, they were deliberately in disguise.

Harry used his placement in Ravenclaw to his advantage, disdaining friendships for knowledge, and could usually be found with his nose in a book, or lurking in an unused classroom to practice what he was teaching himself. And besides, he was rather disgusted with the hero worship he kept encountering in his fellow students, and thought it best to decline catering to their delusional little fantasies.

Strange things happened over the course of the year—whether they be connected to his status as the Boy Who Lived or not—and he ignored them, though he did file away any and all information he came across. It was obvious that some people believed that Voldemort was not truly gone. The signs certainly pointed to it.

But he was there to learn, not to get involved in the business of adults, even if some of the professors were as effective as a paper umbrella in a thunderstorm. He also managed to track down some reptilian friends, which prompted a few ideas on how best to utilize them.

Second year arrived, and with it an augmentation of his friends. More snakes—the word having gotten around among them—had decided it would be amusing to play along with him. He set them to spying on people, such as his disguised family, hoping to gain conclusive evidence of some kind.

And somewhere far away a 'man' knew—he felt it—he stood a good chance of being reborn, thus he returned to reside nearby in obscurity. And to spy, of course.

Harry was sitting outside reading ahead when a twist of snakes slithered over to update him, and it was then he learned that his parents and sibling knew exactly who they were. Worse yet, he now knew that his twin was considered the Boy Who Lived, and was living in obscurity to protect him, while Harry himself played unwitting decoy. Dumbledore was, apparently, the mastermind of the plan, and the snakes also reported that the old man was frustrated with Harry for not playing up to his role. Harry laughed bitterly at that and shook his head.

A young girl died that year, and though Harry was not aware of it just yet, a young Tom Riddle rose from memory and forcibly joined with the spirit form of Voldemort, and the Dark Lord was born anew.

His remaining years at Hogwarts were filled with learning—and the occasional mishap such that people were convinced evil forces were rising and were out to get Harry. He shrugged it all off, ostensibly. Harry had come to realize that indeed, the Dark Lord was attempting to shape society to his whims, slowly and quietly taking over the Ministry of Magic. He shared a connection of some kind with the man, able to leech his thoughts and plans. And most importantly, his deepest secrets.

He made sure of certain arrangements. Years of research gave rise to a way to clean out his trust fund beneath the notice of the goblins, and this was set up before he enacted the rest of his plans. Harry was also aware that Voldemort was spying on him in turn, via snakes, and made sure to discuss certain aspects of those plans such that they would be passed on. A part of him was highly amused at the idea of getting the Dark Lord to help him, and it would not go against the man's flexible non-interference policy. In fact, he was aware that Voldemort thought it was brilliant, mainly for the sheer terror it would induce in the British wizarding population.

That being so, Harry was ready with a supply of Polyjuice potion when he was attacked, as expected, and was easily able to slip it to a dying man. Not long after the victim transformed into the guise of Harry Potter he died, thus locking into place the appearance. And Harry snuck away, collected his money, and left the country.

A new life was made at Saint Helena.

Papers reported all that he expected. A massive funeral, outpourings of sorrow and fear, and then, the revelation that James, Lily, and Leo Potter were still alive. The British public found new hope, and forgave the deception, quite convinced (brainwashed was Harry's thought) that Dumbledore knew best (unless one was a dark wizard, of course).

And then Leo Potter, the true Boy Who Lived, their hope, died. It was a mass panic, and Harry laughed himself senseless over the whole thing, even as he felt twinges of guilt for such merriment at another's expense. All that time, all those years, his family working so hard to prepare their son, and it stood for naught.

Voldemort was very pleased with himself, understandably so, and saw the way to his dominion clear.

One year after Voldemort had ascended to true power, once all his minions were known for their deeds, Harry slipped back into the country. The Dark Lord was, by then, feeling quite secure, and wasn't as cautious as he should be, which would explain how Harry could arrange for his death. And a number of others, incidentally, when the minister's residence imploded one fine evening after a colorless, odorless gas knocked everyone unconscious.

Thus the true Boy Who Lived—for Voldemort's mind had made that quite clear, though the man had thought Harry had no idea and was simply bitter to the core—vanquished his foe, from obscurity, and went back to his simple island life.

Voldemort, brilliant yet stupid Dark Lord: dead. Dumbledore, indifferently cruel mastermind: dead. James and Lily Potter, brainwashed pawns: broken.


	9. Oneshot: Er, No

**Title**: Er, No

**Date**: 18 September 2008  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers:** Anything from canon, as necessary.  
**Warnings**: Character death

**Summary**: The cliché that wouldn't die. Friendship and loyalty to the rescue.

**Notes**: Something I _sometimes_ hate to see, so I did it myself, my way. This one kind of ran away from me, though. I started rambling, sort of. Ends a bit abruptly, but I did include two extras. I'm not even sure I like this, but I wrote it, so up it finally goes.

* * *

Harry shifted in his squashy floral chair, mentally reviewed what he had been told, and said, "So let me get this straight. Malfoy's a veela, and I'm his destined mate?"

"Yes, Potter," Snape growled, one hand in a death grip on the aforementioned Malfoy's arm.

"Isn't it grand?" Dumbledore said. "You two boys will finally be able to get along."

"So somebody out there with a seriously whacked sense of humor decided that Malfoy and I are just perfect for each other," he muttered, then looked at Malfoy. "And what do you have to say about all this?"

Draco brightened at being spoken to directly. "It will be wonderful. And we can even have children. I know you'll be a very strong, protective mate."

At that point Harry decided that Malfoy had gone completely round the bend. "Uh huh. Anything else you'd like to say?"

The barest frown marred the blond's forehead. "We could live anywhere you liked."

Which wasn't what he was looking for. "Yeah, well, I need to think about this."

"Don't think too long," Snape said.

"Why not, professor?"

Snape sneered at him. "I see you still lack in even basic information about the wizarding world and its residents. Surely you're aware that veela, once they have found their mate, must bond within a certain amount of time."

Harry stared at him blankly.

"Well, my boy, let's give you some time to think, shall we?" Dumbledore suggested quickly, averting what looked like a building tirade on Snape's part.

"All right, professor. I'll just be going, then." Harry got up and left as quickly as his semi-shaky legs could take him. He met up with Ron and Hermione a short distance from the gargoyle and shook his head at their inquiries. "Not now, not here." They were partway to the Room of Requirement when he heard his name shouted. Turning around revealed Malfoy headed his way.

"Harry! Wait up!"

"Why is he calling you Harry?" Ron muttered.

Malfoy caught up, then seemed to realize just who was standing there and sneered. "Weasel. Mudblood. I need to talk to Harry, so piss off."

Harry arched a brow, turned around and grabbed his friends' arms, and led them away. When Malfoy persisted he said, quite calmly, "I'm thinking. I can't do that around you. So leave me be."

"Oh, but they're okay?"

After a nice deep breath he said, "They're my best friends."

"A blood traitor and a mudblood? You must be joking."

A second later Malfoy had been stunned, and Harry and his friends were making an escape. They retreated to Gryffindor, however, up into the boys' dorm, and settled on Harry's bed, curtains closed and anti-eavesdropping spells emplaced.

"What the hell is going on?" Ron demanded.

"It's very simple. On the surface, anyway. Apparently Malfoy is a veela and I'm supposedly his mate."

"What!? You can't bloody be his mate! That's ridiculous!" Ron ranted on for another five minutes before he went silent, red-faced and puffing.

"What are you going to do?" Hermione asked quietly. "If you really are his mate, he'll die if you don't bond with him."

"Oh, so that's what Snape meant," he mused. "Well, I told them I needed to think about it."

"Think about it!? There's nothing to think about!" Ron insisted. "Tell him to bugger off! You saw the way he treated us."

"I know, Ron, I know. And that's part of why I wanted time to think about it. I mean, there's the barest possibility that all this time Malfoy's been acting. You know, to appease his git of a father."

"But he's dead," Hermione pointed out.

Harry nodded. "Yes. So if he was acting all this time, don't you think he'd be a bit nicer to my friends? Sounds to me like he truly believes that twaddle. How could I possibly bond with someone who thinks my friends are revolting? And hey, I'm a half-blood. By his thinking I'm just as revolting."

"Except you're his mate, so that makes you an exception," Hermione said quietly.

"In his mind," Harry agreed. "I don't like it, not one bit. I can see it now, him being a complete bastard to you two, the rest of the Weasleys, to pretty much anyone I care about." After a pause he said, "How much time do I have, anyway?"

"To make a decision? Well, now that he's made his determination you have about six months."

"Wonderful. And if I refuse him he dies."

"So let him die!"

Hermione glanced at Ron and sighed. "I don't like this any better than you, Ron, but there is a life at stake."

"Then what do you suggest?" Harry asked, quite curious as to her thoughts.

"Give it a while first, see if he changes his attitudes. If what we see really is who Malfoy is, then. . . ."

"Then?"

"Harry, it would kill you to live in that situation. After everything you've been through, all that we've managed, to give up the happiness you deserve. . . . Well, I don't like the idea of anyone else dying, but you'd die, just in a different way, you know? And what's Malfoy ever done to deserve you? It shouldn't be your responsibility to remold his character, like it's another horrific obstacle in life. So give him a while, tell him exactly why you're against the idea, and see what he does. And if he fails, then . . . then I'll help hide you so you can't be forced into it," she said fiercely.

He felt his eyes sting. "You'd do that for me?"

"We both would, mate," Ron said firmly.

Hermione smiled at him and nodded. "Look, I've got some questions of my own about this. Like, how long has he known he's a veela? Did this come out of nowhere because his father thought it would make them look impure, or has he known all along? If he has that's a huge black mark against him. You might have to be the one asking the questions, but we can all think of ways to properly assess him."

"Can he use allure against me? Like those veela at the World Cup?" he asked nervously.

"Um, yes," she said with a frown. "Oh, but there's a way around that. I'll take care of it. For all three of us."

"How quickly?"

She looked a bit shifty. "There's potions we can take, but we'd need the ingredients, or buy them already made. We may need to sneak out, actually."

Harry shook his head. "I'll ask Dobby to get them. I have enough money, I'm sure. And once he finds out that Malfoy is after me, well. . . ."

She hesitated, then nodded. "The sooner the better."

"I wonder if there's a way to pawn him off on someone else," he mused, "someone who'd want him."

Hermione shrugged.

"Oh well. Dobby!"

* * *

Harry sighed and wished the holiday would arrive sooner. Malfoy, even after having been told quite bluntly about his objections, had not changed in the least. Oh, he attempted to pretend, but he could not manage to control the sneers or the condescending attitude. And more than once they had eavesdropped on his conversations with others, which showed that his thinking was firmly entrenched. Malfoy also seemed to be peeved over his allure not working to get him his way.

Snape was even nastier than usual, though Harry got the impression it had as much to do with Malfoy being a Slytherin as anything else. There always had been rumors of him being Malfoy's godfather. He was getting tired of being called arrogant, that he obviously was so full of himself that even this honor was beneath him. He was just as tired of other people seeking his company, or rather, the company of He Who Defeated Voldemort.

Of course, if Dumbledore would let him go he could finish up his packing.

"Have you given any thought to inviting Mr Malfoy to go with you?"

"No, sir," he said firmly. "I have every intention of going home for the holiday to get away from everything. The only place I have any measure of peace in the school is when I'm in Gryffindor tower, as Malfoy persists in pursuing me at every opportunity, along with half the rest of the school."

Dumbledore nodded and said, "And yet, you would have the opportunity to get to know him better if you did, away from the school and all the other students."

"With all due respect, sir, I own that house, and it's my choice who to invite within. I want some peace, and I won't be getting that if he's there. Aside from that, I refuse to do that to Ron and Hermione. And I'll probably be ambushed just trying to do my Christmas shopping."

Dumbledore merely twinkled at him. "I'm sure you'll have plenty of time after you've bonded. A lifetime, in fact."

Ruthlessly repressing the desire to scream, Harry made a noncommittal noise, then said, "May I go, sir?" Back in his dorm he paced like a madman, only stopping when his friends joined him.

"You raced in here like the devil was on your heels," Hermione observed. "What happened?"

He snorted. "Dumbledore wanted me to invite Malfoy home for the holiday. I can't take much more of this, guys."

Hermione nodded and began to finish up his packing for him. She had a strange gleam in her eyes he wasn't sure he wanted to ask about just yet.

The next morning they had breakfast quickly and scampered off to take a carriage down to the station, then barricaded themselves into one of the compartments on the train, as they did not know if Malfoy was staying at the castle or not. Sadly, he wasn't. He attempted to visit and was thwarted by the protections they had emplaced. Even so, he had a smile for Harry and sneers for his friends before disappearing.

"Soon, Harry," Hermione said. "And I suggest we apparate off the train when we arrive."

The house looked much the same, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief once they were inside. The wards had been heavily updated and were under Harry's control.

Hermione dumped her trunk in the hall and said, "Right. Harry, close off the wards to anyone but us three. And call Dobby?"

He gave her a funny look as he did so, Dobby popping in a few seconds after.

"What is Master Harry wanting?"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed; Dobby was incredibly stubborn.

"Dobby," said Hermione, "is it possible to make it so that the only house elf that can enter this house is you?"

"Yes, Miss Hermione. I can be doing so."

"Please do," she requested. "It's for our safety."

Dobby glanced at Harry, who nodded. "I be doing so right away," he said, then disappeared.

"Now we check to see if anyone left behind any surprises, like monitoring spells," she said, then produced her wand. "It's like so. . . ."

At dinner (which Harry prepared, fending off Dobby) Hermione looked at them gravely. "Let's start with whatever it was that upset you so much yesterday, Harry. I know it wasn't as simple as you explained."

"No. Dumbledore brushed off what I was saying, and then capped things by assuming I would bond with Malfoy, and that we'd have a lifetime together to get to know each other. His thing for giving people second chances is suspect when it's not his life in question."

"We gave the ferret plenty of second chances," Ron muttered around a mouthful of food.

Hermione huffed. "Don't speak with your mouth full. Okay, so we've got no help coming from that quarter, and Snape will make your life even more hellish than he has been. Well, I have a plan. I've been working on parts of it for a while now, just in case. We'll need to go to Gringotts tomorrow, to start."

"What do you have in mind?"

She smiled crookedly. "We're going to flee the country, of course. I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to guilt you into bonding, or Snape to tie you up and force you to do it. I already have a passport, but I checked and we can get you two passports with the help of Gringotts. Did you know, they have muggleborns and certain half-bloods employed that work the muggle side of things? Well, they have the knowledge to fix a few things, like identification papers. All very hush hush and hideously expensive, but. . . ."

Ron gaped, a rather unattractive sight given that he still had food in his mouth.

"Gringotts should also have waiting a list of properties you can snatch up quickly, so we'll have a place to live," she continued. "Yes, Ron, I know, you're wondering how I could possibly propose this when it means we'd not be able to take our NEWTs. We can hire a tutor or something and take them in some other country, not the one we end up in. That way it'd be harder to find us, assuming anybody even thought to check. And so long as there's a Gringotts decently nearby, it isn't as though Harry would be cut off from his accounts. We can prevent owls from finding us, and Dobby might know of a way to prevent any house elves but him from finding us."

Dobby nodded violently.

"What about Fawkes? You know he can transport people," Harry pointed out.

She shook her head. "Depends on the wards in place. After all, if Fawkes could go anywhere, he could have dropped half the Order inside Malfoy Manor so they could duke it out, or straight into Voldemort's hideout."

Harry smiled faintly, feeling a lot more confident. "You're amazing, Hermione. I am so lucky to have you as a friend, and very appreciative."

"You can repay me by displaying better study habits," she replied with a grin.

Ron, sensibly, merely smiled and kept eating.

"You only have two months left, so I think we should disappear during this holiday. That's why I packed everything. We'll have to work on a letter, as well. The least we could do is explain why, and in no uncertain terms. I doubt it'll have any effect, but it's only polite."

"Certain people are still going to be horribly disappointed in us, or start making plans to hunt us down with a mind toward torture and death."

Hermione nodded at him.

"Don't care," Ron said. "There's no way you're going to bond with the ferret. You gave up way too much already to sacrifice yourself again, and for a person who can't even be bothered to make an effort. He doesn't even love you. He just wants what he thinks ought to be his. He's the same spoiled brat he's always been." He paused. "Are you even gay, Harry?"

He flushed and shifted in his seat. "Er, maybe?"

Ron waved a hand dismissively. "Just curious. So, disguises tomorrow, hit the bank, get any shopping done if there's time. . . . Maybe some in the muggle shops?"

"It'd be easier to find something for your dad there," Harry said agreeably.

"So muggle money, too. And when everything's set, we disappear. Though, I think we should make an appearance at the Burrow for Christmas day."

Harry nodded, then furrowed his brow. "If passports are being arranged, does that mean you were planning on muggle transportation?"

"Yes. I was told that the passports are enhanced, so we can change the information as necessary. Mine can be updated. The, er, base would be our real information, though. We can make the trip in several legs, using different identities each time. Portkeys can be traced so we want to avoid those. And since we're all of age in the magical world, the magic we do when we settle into whatever house we get won't be noticed. But we need to keep our heads down until Harry turns eighteen."

"Why eighteen?" Ron asked.

"Because that's the general legal age in the muggle world. You can get a job and your own place here in England at sixteen, but your guardians still have say over other things. We'll have to double-check depending on which country we end up in. By the way, Harry, this food is delicious. You're a fantastic cook."

He flushed again. "Thanks. We won't starve, that's for sure."

Dobby huffed. "Dobby cooks fine, too."

"You do," he hastened to assure his little friend. "But I like to cook. It's relaxing. We can set up a schedule or something, okay? And whoever cooks doesn't have to do the cleaning up." Having mollified the house elf he added, "Who wants dessert?"

The next day was half spent at Gringotts; they would have to return to finalize things. The rest was spent shopping in the comfort of anonymity. Two days later they returned to Gringotts and walked away feeling quite pleased, and meandered by a travel agency.

Bright and early on Christmas day they arrived at the Burrow, laden down with packages, and were ushered in by a fussing Mrs Weasley, who was by then certain they must have been starving to death by themselves. Harry tuned most of it out, knowing it wasn't worth the effort to protest. The day went well enough, despite Harry feeling a bit exposed. He kept checking through the windows to make sure Malfoy hadn't popped up seeking his company, though he was still a topic of conversation. Even Arthur and Molly seemed to think Harry would bond, and Harry wondered privately if they were holding delusional romantic notions about the whole thing.

They left early morning on the twenty-ninth, eventually arriving at their destination on the thirty-first. The house was completely lacking in furniture, or even character, but that could be fixed easily enough with temporary transfiguration of odds and ends. It was more important to get the place warded, despite how tired they were. It should not be until the fourth that anyone noticed they were missing, which should be barely enough time. Hermione could be seen crawling around at all hours etching runes, Ron trailing behind her with a book so he could double-check them, and Harry casting all sorts of more simplistic spell-based wards.

When finally complete Hermione looked around in smug satisfaction, then grimaced. "You do realize we're all going to feel like we're dying after that abuse of energizing potions."

"It's worth it," Ron said. "Can always hire a goblin warder to come in and add some more, too. And it means Harry is safe from the ferret."

"And Snape."

The letter had already been taken care of, so they crashed into their beds, not to wake up for a good twenty-four hours, and with splitting headaches. But life went on.

Word filtered back to them in March of Malfoy's demise. Predictably, Snape was on the warpath, raging about the senseless death of his favored student, and placing the blame squarely on the shoulders of Harry.

Harry, however, was happily soaking up knowledge from their tutor, a man in his mid-twenties that caused him to have rather naughty dreams at night. Not that he would admit to them. No, he would enjoy for once feeling . . . normal.

* * *

**The Dream**

He woke up sodden with sweat and with a grimace on his face, though the former was taken care of courtesy of a shower. At breakfast he was fidgety enough that Hermione finally stared at him in that certain way and began tapping her nails on the table.

"I had a really strange dream," he admitted.

Ron raised his brows and continued to shovel eggs into his mouth.

"Really strange. In it, Snape had taken, er, samples from Malfoy." He licked his lips and grimaced again. "He found some pureblood girl to. . . ."

Hermione sighed. "To bear Malfoy's posthumous children?"

"Yeah."

"Okay," she said slowly. "But what was so weird about the dream? I mean, that was strange, but considering how purebloods tend to be about carrying on the family line. . . ." She waved a hand around vaguely.

"Well, it changed then, to like seventeen or eighteen years later. One of those children inherited veela traits as well, and he tracked me down, saying I was his mate. What really freaked me out, though, was that the kid told me he was happy that I let his father die, because that meant I was his. The look on his face when he said it was just frightening."

"It's just a dream, Harry. You're still unsettled by everything."

He shrugged. "I guess."

Ron scowled. "Last thing we need is more bloody Malfoys running around." He glanced at Hermione. "Can they do that?"

"What, take samples and get children after the fact? Muggles can, so I wouldn't be surprised if magicals could, too. I'll have to check."

"I wish you hadn't asked that," Harry whined. "I've gone right off my food."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Should anything strange like that actually happen, I'm sure we'll get news that there are, mysteriously, Malfoy heirs, and we'll know to be on guard. Okay?"

He smiled faintly. "Yeah."

* * *

**The Letter**

Professor Dumbledore,

By now you probably realize that I've left. Well, let me explain why. There are a couple of things you've said to me that have always stuck with me, and those things helped to form a basis for my decision.

First, you told me that our choices make us who we are. I believe that came up when I was upset because the sorting hat told me it still thought I would have done well in Slytherin. The thing is, you continued to keep trying to make my choices for me after my 'duty' to the magical community had been accomplished. When I was informed about this whole being a mate to a veela thing you were at least kind enough to agree that I needed time to think. However, later on, you began to meddle. You tried to get me to accept. You made assumptions that I would accept. You made it sound like there was no choice at all, and we both know that's incorrect. You made a choice to assume I would blithely go along with this farce. I made a choice not to be guilted into it or even forced into it by Malfoy or Snape.

And let's talk about Malfoy's choices, shall we? I told him in no uncertain terms what my objections were to bonding with him. He chose to ignore my words. He played his little games. He chose to pretend to change his attitude, as though it was something his father had forced him into previously, but I know from his own lips it was an act. He chose to try to use his allure against me to get his way. He chose to continue to be nasty to my best friends, as though they didn't matter, as though I would simply abandon them, as though I ought to discard them in favor of him.

And he knew there was a 50/50 chance he could inherit the veela traits. He knew this, and yet did not adopt a policy of aloofness rather than what we all saw for years. He chose to be a bastard, knowing that a person he loathed had the potential to become his 'destined' mate, however unlikely that would be.

I weigh my choices against his, and he comes up wanting.

Second, you told me it's about doing what's right over doing what's easy. No doubt you would tell me it is 'right' to not let Malfoy die. I think it's not right for me to sacrifice the rest of my life to a person who has no intention of changing, doesn't want to change, and would no doubt do his damnedest to make me change to suit him. And I'm supposed to do this for a young man who has never done anything to deserve this sacrifice on his behalf? No. I refuse to die inside just because it would make someone else happy.

The easy path would be to just give up, to give in, and allow the assumptions—his, yours, Snape's—to become reality. Even Molly and Arthur thought I would just roll over and accept this so-called fate. Only two people stood by me. Only two people knew it would kill me. And they're with me.

Try to find us if you like. Don't be too disappointed if you fail.

HJP

* * *

**Updated**: 07 October 2008, to correct a typo. Also on 20 October 2008 to correct another typo I noticed.

**Notice**: I got a request from someone who wished to write a 'sequel' to this oneshot, and I gave permission. **Duochan** has written one called _Tough _at: www . fanfiction . net/s/4589093/1/


	10. Oneshot: Twue Wuv

**Title**: Twue Wuv

**Date**: 20 October 2008  
**Rating**: PG-13?  
**Pairing**: Harry/Voldemort  
**Warnings**: AU, crack, deaths

**Summary**: Once upon a time, something went 'splodie and the universe banged into existence. And then we fast-forwarded to James and Lily at Hogwarts. (Rock skipping in story form.)

**Notes**: Aside from being evidence that I'm in a right strange mood, some of the "ideas" in this little masterpiece come from snide comments I've made in the past. In any case, this will help cut back on the length of my ideas file, which seems to contain 90 percent crack these days.

* * *

**Once upon a time...**

...there was a man and a woman. The man was a jerk and the woman was fairly sensible, but that quickly changed when she had more than the recommended dose that day of pumpkin juice (muggleborns had issues, you see) and ended up agreeing to marry James Potter.

They finished school and got married, and did the usual sorts of things that married folk did. Yes, that means sex, and lots of it. And, as generally happens when people aren't being careful (or they actually _want_ children), Lily got knocked up.

* * *

**The Ethereal Plane, Moirae Manor**

"Next up, Harry James Potter," said the fairy with a squeal of delight.

Clotho nodded and gained a thoughtful look, then reached over and spun the first wheel. When it stopped she frowned. "Forty-two? It's never stopped on that before."

"That's the answer to life, the universe, and everything, dear, remember?" Lachesis said.

Clotho snorted as Atropos stepped up and gestured at the next wheel.

Lachesis fiddled with it for a moment and then gave it a spin. With a mournful sigh she said, "And we have to do this forty-two times."

"Well, what's it say?" the fairy asked excitedly.

"Good looks," Atropos said, jotting it down on a piece of parchment. "Spin it again."

Clotho did so. "Subject to a prophecy." She blinked and looked at her counterparts. "Have we done one of those recently?"

Atropos jotted it down before saying, "No. We'll have to come up with something appropriately vague and open to gross misinterpretation (especially if it's given in an obscure language), and then see who gets to deliver it and witness it. Next?"

"Beloved of Tyche," Lachesis said with a grin. "Should come in handy."

And so it went, many abilities being designated for the as yet unborn soul of Harry James Potter to receive.

* * *

**Godric's Hollow, A Not-So-Secret Location**

"No! Not Harry! Take me, take me instead!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl! Stand aside!"

Lily opened her mouth to plead again and hesitated. "Hang on. Are you wearing Prada?"

Voldemort gave her an assessing look, but only briefly, long enough to notice the unwilling admiration in her eyes. Sure, he could appreciate her fashion sense and all that, but now just wasn't the time for a discussion on the subject. He had a schedule to keep, after all. "Avada Kedavra!"

* * *

**Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, UK, Earth, Milky Way...**

Petunia Dursley's life was hosed.

Whenever she 'forgot' about that little freak Harry, such as when he needed changing, the toilet would back up. When she didn't feed him, food would begin to spoil, which had a detrimental effect on their food bill. When Vernon would try to abandon him in an alley, a helpful policeman would bring him back, complete with condescending jokes about Vernon's forgetfulness.

Should they scold him when he did that freakish stuff, their hair would fall out. Petunia had built up a small collection of wigs, and Vernon had a few toupees. That was also detrimental to their finances.

When the boy came home with excellent marks on his school work and Vernon threatened him, all printed media in the house switched languages to Chinese and the telly would only broadcast in Swahili.

If Dudley and his little friends tried to play too roughly with the freak, they would all inexplicably develop doxophobia. If Petunia should attempt to overload the boy with chores she would come down with a sick headache and have to take a nap, which severely impacted the amount of time she could spend spying on Mrs Next-Door.

Marge. . . . Well, Marge didn't visit anymore.

Petunia almost wept with joy when the freak's letter came. True, he would be going to a 'school' that would teach him how to be even more freakish, but he would be out of their house for the majority of the year. She immediately grabbed her purse and hustled the child out to the car, and drove to London, stopping by a bank long enough to get a princely sum of money, then ushered the boy to that Leaky Cauldron place she remembered (it was burned into her memory) from when Lily got her letter.

She wore sunglasses during the entire trip, halfheartedly believing it would help block out the unnaturalness, and did her best to sabotage her hearing as well. Once home she pretended none of it had happened, taking a two hour bath with copious use of a sloughing scrub.

* * *

**Unknown Secret Location (Denny's)**

"Hi," he said a bit nervously. "I'm Colin, and I'm a stalker."

The group of people were all smiles for the admission, and many of them clapped.

Colin nodded and took his seat, then looked to the side.

"Hi, my name is Ginny, and I'm a stalker."

She gained the same welcoming reception.

The leader of the group stood up and waved for everyone to settle down, then said, "Wonderful, wonderful. Welcome, everyone, to the eleventy-billionth meeting of the Harry Potter Fan Club. Just a reminder that dues are to be paid by next Saturday. Keep up the good work with photos for the shrine, okay? Great! Now..."

* * *

**Diagon Alley, Mysteriously Unable to be Viewed by Muggle Satellite Technology**

A scream rent the air.

'Excellent,' Lucius thought. 'We've barely arrived and already someone is terrified.' He lifted his wand in order to curse an innocent bystander when he heard something that made him hesitate and glance over his shoulder. A mob of people was thundering toward them, screaming and waving little black books in their hands. He barely had time to process what he was seeing when he and his fellow Death Eaters were trampled.

He found out later, from the aurors, that wretched Harry Potter had been spotted in Diagon Alley. It was to his great shame that he had been bested by the brat's bloody fan club. But, ha! Potter had realized what was going on and had escaped mere seconds before the bastards would have caught up to him and begun begging for autographs. On the other hand, he was not looking forward to what would happen should their lord break them out of Azkaban. Again.

* * *

**The Big Blowout Battle at the End**

Voldemort scoffed. "Love? This secret power is love?"

Harry nodded and smiled cheerfully. "Yup, that's what the old fart told me before he kicked off."

"You fool," he said scathingly. "Love is weak!"

"It's time for the Kumquat Defense!" shouted a random person.

"He also said that my blood has given you the ability to feel remorse. Isn't that great!?" Harry ignored the fighting going on around them. He knew that by custom they would be left alone until such time as it was time for the grand finale.

A different random person yelled, "Is that anything like the Calamondin Offensive?"

Voldemort slashed his wand through the air in negation. "I don't know the meaning of that word."

Harry blinked slowly and made an O-shape with his mouth. "Well, you do know that printed dictionaries are available for sale in many countries. . . ? In a number of languages, even!"

The Dark Lord snarled and picked off a few 'good' guys who got too close. To keep things even, Harry AK'd a handful of Death Eaters, one of whom wasn't wearing Death Eater regalia.

"You do realize," Voldemort said snidely, "that you just offed Minister Fudge."

"Oh, yes," Harry said with a nod. "I could have sworn he was on your payroll. And besides, why else would a coward like that show up for the big battle if you hadn't terrified him into doing so?"

Voldemort looked like he was having trouble refuting that line of reasoning, then shook his head and whacked a couple of Order members.

By the time the grand finale came up on the schedule they were surrounded by piles and piles of dead bodies, and Voldemort was explaining all about his horrible childhood.

Harry nodded sympathetically. "So do you think I should have arranged for horrific yet seemingly accidental deaths for those relatives of mine? I mean, they really were the worst sort of muggles. Thank heavens for accidental magic that wasn't so accidental."

"They . . . harmed you?" Voldemort asked with frightening intensity.

"They tried," Harry allowed. "I'd like to think I taught them to reconsider, even if it never seems to stick. I think they lack intelligence."

Voldemort heaved a sigh, looking a skosh remorseful for a split second, then let loose with an evil smile. "Why don't we go take care of that now? You're seventeen, an adult, it's not like you need them any longer."

"You'd help?" Harry raised his left hand to briefly cover his heart. "See, I knew you weren't such a bad guy. Those silly Gryffindors kept trying to tell me all Slytherins are evil. No matter how many times I tried to educate them about psychology, they'd just smile and torch another Slytherin banner or hastily transfigured snake plushie." He looked around contemplatively. "Er, do you ever get the idea that between the two of us we killed a good portion of the British wizarding population?"

Voldemort smirked and nodded. "Well, yes," he said with admirable modesty—false, of course. "We'll have to sit down and figure out how a real government should run. But for now, why don't we seal our truce with a bit of death and destruction. Then we can go back to my house for some tea and a chat."

Harry rearranged his expression to 'waif' and nodded. "With Bakewell tarts?"

"Anything you like," Voldemort said indulgently.

Thus did our 'heroes' skip off into the sunset to kill some muggles. They did eventually bash out a new government structure, possession of sherbet lemons became a punishable offense, Voldemort learned that love isn't a weakness, and Harry talked his way out of having to play the girly part in their bonding ceremony. (He rather thought that wearing a dress should be reserved for kinky sex nights.) The fact that their only guests were snakes and owls, and that Nagini and Hedwig were their best 'beings', was beside the point.

And they lived happily ever after.

* * *

**Attributions**: In order to get these I'm afraid you will need to visit the Grazhir copy, as I can't put links in chapters here. That section will explain where a lot of the sillier moments come from in this little story.


	11. Oneshot: CrackoWeen

**Title**: Crack-o-Ween

**Date**: 19 October 2008  
**Rating**: PG-13?  
**Characters**: Harry, Voldemort, random people who don't need names  
**Warnings**: Crackfic, deaths

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary**: For Halloween. Someone has leaked information about Potter's life to the muggles.

**Notes**: I thought I'd give Halloween a try. . . ? I have a list, from fics out there, of the various misspellings of Voldemort, which is what gave me the idea.

* * *

"What is it?" he snapped.

The Death Eater lifted his head slightly and said, "My lord, there seems to be a slight problem. Someone has leaked information about Potter's life to the muggles, and. . . ."

"And?" he demanded.

Twenty minutes later Voldemort stalked out of his super secret hideout and disapparated once he was outside the wards. His arrival point was a shock to the system; a celebration was going on, for Halloween, with a multitude of costumed muggles milling about and knocking back Merlin only knew what sort of alcohol.

"Heyo, people!"

He snapped his head around toward the voice, noticing a rather pudgy man up on a stage, beads of sweat rolling down the sides of his face. Voldemort stared, trying to figure out what the man was supposed to be representing. Pale blond hair (obviously fake), fangs, badly-constructed wings. . . .

"All right. It's time for the costume contest," the man said enthusiastically. "I know, I know, you're all secretly in awe of my sexy veela self, but this isn't about me!"

Voldemort snorted and began calculating just how many muggles he could kill in the least amount of time.

"First up: Dark Lords! I know you're out there, so come on up and let's get this contest started!"

He frowned and glanced around. He had been warned of this, but really, seeing was believing. A number of muggles pushed their way through the crowd and took the stairs up to the stage, and began to array themselves in a line. Voldemort hesitated a moment, smirked cruelly, and followed, taking a spot at the end. It was about then that he noticed none of the people on stage looked anything like an evil dark lord, and all of them were wearing white tags. A closer look at the man next to him revealed the tag to read: Lord Voldemolt.

He snarled. The next one down read: Lord Voldermort.

"Okay! Is that everyone? Fantastic!" The announcer turned and approach the first man in line. "Lord Vlodemort, huh? I see you don't know your canon, but that's all right," he said and laughed heartily. "You also look suspiciously like Darth Vader without the mask, but he was a dark lord, wasn't he."

Voldemort glared. He had never heard of this Darth Vader person.

"Okay, and next we have Lord Voltmeter." The announcer turned away for a second, his shoulders shaking slightly, then continued on down the line until he got to Voldemort himself. "Hey, no tag. But you look fabulous! You must have really paid attention to those books. Wonderful, wonderful!"

He was just about to say something when a reflection caught his eye. A look down at the masses revealed a half dozen Potter lookalikes. One of them might even be the real thing. "Potter," he snarled, whipping out his wand.

A bunch of females in the audience shrieked, then laughed self-consciously.

"Whoa! Really getting into the act."

Voldemort ignored the idiot and cast the killing curse on the first of the possible Potters, smirking when the kid dropped to the ground. Mere seconds later the others were down and he was aiming at the imbeciles pretending to be him. "Die, you peasants!"

While he was clearing those out half the audience was stampeding away, frightened out of their wits. Though, there was a bunch of weedy-looking fellows off to the side loudly discussing what sort of electronics work was necessary to get a Taser to function like that, complete with cool light effects.

The announcer was standing at one corner of the stage, beaming. Voldemort had just aimed at him when another reflection caught his eye. There, just a few yards away, was a dead ringer for Potter, and this one had a wand in his hand.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He smirked. "What's it look like?"

"Since when do you crash muggle events and off the competitors? Worried one of their costumes might be better than yours?"

"W-wait a minute," the announcer said. "These people are . . . dead?"

Voldemort casually killed the fellow and turned his attention back to Potter. "Time for you to die."

Potter rolled his eyes. "Look, I know you're pissed, but if you'd simply told me Nagini was molting, I wouldn't have AK'd her when she bit me like that!"

"She was my familiar," he roared.

"Yes, dear, I know that. Now, how about I make you some treacle tarts? You like those. And besides, the obliviation squad will be here shortly. We really ought to be going."

"Fine," he snarled, then shot the Dark Mark into the air. A moment later he left the stage and pulled Potter into his embrace, then apparated them away, but not before giving him a rough kiss. Killing always did make him a bit randy.


	12. Oneshot: Night of the Malfoy Commandos

**Title**: Night of the Malfoy Commandos

**Pairing**: Gen  
**Written**: 18 September 2008 (completed during a second stint on 31 May 2010)  
**Spoilers**: Nothing, really.  
**Warnings**: AU, crack-ish, OOC-ness

**Notes**: The title is semi-stolen, of course, as is the idea, but we all know the idea was borrowed anyway. :) _Jondosh_ reminded me that I had nothing to offer for my birthday, so... I pulled this out, dusted it off, and whipped up a finish to it.

(Apologies to Berkeley Breathed.)

**Summary**: Hermione snapped, and it was a terrible, terrible thing.

* * *

Harry sighed with pleasure as he settled into a cozy nook with a 'book' he had 'borrowed' from his cousin. It was time—yes, time—for some purely silly silliness. Thus, he got comfortable in his chair, checked to see that he had a butterbeer handy, and smiled. He was not going to obsess over anything and everything, he was simply going to ignore the world for a while, and enjoy one different.

Quite some time later he was interrupted with a somewhat snide, "Nice to see you know how to crack a book during the holidays."

He looked up, hoping he was just hearing voices again. But no, it was Hermione. "It's not exactly a book. You should be able to tell that from the shape."

She huffed and snatched it out of his hands, much to his displeasure. A glance at the cover saw her frowning. She quickly opened it to a random page and began reading, a curious expression creeping over her face. "Harry!"

"Hm?"

"Can I, er, borrow this for a little while?" she asked.

He sighed, then realized she wasn't yelling at him for being frivolous. "Sure."

Hermione nodded and dashed off, so he pulled out another one and began reading again.

Several days later he was walking down the hall when someone grabbed him by the arm and hauled him into one of the unused rooms of headquarters. The door was kicked shut a second later and Hermione was asking, "Harry, I hesitate to ask but. . . ."

He rather thought she looked shifty. "What?"

"Well. . . ." She twitched. "There's something I want to get. I have rather a bit of money, but I don't think it'll be enough."

More books? "Don't worry about it. I'll give you whatever you need."

Hermione looked mildly affronted, then nodded. "I'll pay it back, Harry. I insist."

He shrugged. "Whatever. I know you're good for it."

"Great!"

A short time later they were strolling toward Gringotts, disguises firmly in place, to raid Harry's vault. And after that she led him, not to Flourish & Blotts, but to the apothecary. Harry wrinkled his nose at the smells within and turned to his friend, who was twitching again. "Her—mia?"

She glanced at him, smiled weakly, and said, "I just need a few things here. Shan't take a minute. I'll be right back, okay?"

Harry leaned against the wall next to the door and hoped that her idea of time and his matched up. A half hour later she returned looking triumphant. "I'm all set." Then she grabbed his arm and dragged him outside, and back toward the Leaky Cauldron. As soon as they returned to headquarters she dashed off to her room.

"What the hell was all that about?" he mused.

A week later he was headed to his room when he happened to glance into Hermione's. He had to pause; she was wearing all black, her hair tucked up into a black stocking cap, and she was busy smearing some dark substance under her eyes. He argued with himself for a bit, then eased into the room and closed the door. "Trying out a new fashion?"

She squeaked and looked immensely guilty. "Er, yeah. Think it suits me?"

Harry crossed his arms and leaned against the door. "By the way, you forgot to return that book."

"Oh! Right. I got distracted."

"You know, the one with the strips in about how they decided to rescue those poor animals used for testing? Might even have been dressed sort of like you."

"What a coincidence!"

"Mm. Isn't it. So tell me, who do you plan on rescuing? And why do I get the feeling you plan to go alone?"

Hermione dropped the tin she was holding and whipped out her wand. "You won't stop me."

"Do you honestly think I would let you go by yourself?" he said, totally unperturbed by the implied threat.

"I am not a child," she hissed.

"Funny, no one listens to me when I say that," he said dryly. "And I never said you were. How would you react if our places were switched?"

"I wouldn't let you go alone," she replied stiffly.

He nodded. "So what's going on?"

Hermione stared at him for a while, then relaxed. "I have figured out how to set them free. At least I think I have. I did loads of research. And damn it, I'm going to try!"

There was only one thing he could think of. "House-elves?"

"Yes. I've got it all worked out. A little stealth, a little polyjuice. . . ."

"And which elves do you plan to test this on?" he asked, feeling a bit light headed.

She twitched again, shuffling her feet slightly. "Er, Malfoy's?"

"Are you insane!"

Hermione glared. "Lucius is in Azkaban, and I heard that Narcissa and Draco are in France right now. It shouldn't be a big deal. I can sneak in, get some hair, polyjuice into Narcissa, and set the house-elves free." Her wand came back up.

"What about the wards? You can't honestly think there wouldn't be wards to contend with?"

She flipped her hand to indicate her lack of concern. "I do read rather extensively, you know, and I have been practicing."

Harry sighed heavily and nodded. "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

"Well, since you're coming along, we'll just have to polyjuice you as well," she declared.

He nodded again, already having seen it coming. "Right, whatever. But for the record, you look utterly silly with that stuff under your eyes. What, are you an American football player?"

Several hours later saw them both sneaking through the wards and into Malfoy Manor. Hermione had spelled them both with an obscure little charm which made them invisible to house-elves and it made all the difference as they stealthily crept down endless majestic hallways in order to locate the master bedroom. Sure enough, the Malfoy house-elves were so traumatized by their treatment that they slacked in their duties in silent rebellion, thus leaving behind strands of hair from both Lucius and Narcissa.

Hermione beamed and quickly set up two vials of polyjuice, then handed one to Harry. As one they downed them, gagging at the taste, then slowly straightened up in their new forms. "All right," she said snootily. "Let's just fix our clothing, yes?"

Five minutes later (and after a gentle reminder from Harry about the black under her eyes) Hermione whipped out a pink Uzi and stalked out of the room, Harry following her with a bewildered look on his face. It was around then that Hermione stopped suddenly. "I—" She faced him with a frantic look. "I have no idea how to call them," she confessed.

Harry let out a long-suffering sigh and snapped his fingers. A house-elf appeared moments later, blinked at 'Narcissa' and her Uzi, and bowed.

"Gather all the elves," he snapped.

"Yes, master," the elf said, then disappeared. Within a minute a number of them appeared, all giving 'Narcissa' a strange look.

Hermione drew herself up and lifted her chin, staring down at the creatures with disdain. "You . . . vermin," she said scathingly, waving her Uzi at them. "I have had it with you. This ends right now."

The elves began trembling in fear, and Harry wondered if his friend had completely gone round the bend given her acting choices.

Her smile was feral as she pointed the Uzi at one of them, then squeezed the trigger. A sock flew out of the end and hit the elf in the face. It gasped, then began to cry. One by one she shot them with socks, releasing all of them from the Malfoy family. "Now get out!" she screamed.

Back at headquarters Hermione whooped with joy and gave a kiss to her Uzi, then beamed at Harry. "Ha! One down, so many more to go!"

Thus began Harry's secret life for the unforeseeable future.


End file.
